


Lost & Found

by VicXntric



Series: The Wheel of Fortune [3]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s05e24-25 Grave Danger, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 10:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 73,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13715697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VicXntric/pseuds/VicXntric
Summary: Nick wants to go home. He just has to figure out where it is.Written in 2006.





	1. Chapter 1

Warrick stopped reading, listening to the vehicle outside and trying to determine whether it was stopping in the driveway. Nick's family was no longer staying at Nick's house and he wasn't really expecting anyone. Once it had become clear that Nick's amnesia would be indefinite, his parents and sister pulled up stakes and relocated to a hotel right next to the hospital. They hadn't been back to Nick's since, too busy making arrangements for Nick to return to Dallas as soon as the doctors allowed him to travel.

Hearing the door open, Warrick left his bedroom, wondering if Susannah had dropped in for some reason. The last person he expected to see in Nick's living room was Nick himself. Although the doctors were happy with his physical progress, Nick still had no memory of the past fourteen years, and there had been no mention of his being released from Desert Palm. 

Standing silently in his bedroom doorway, Warrick found it a bit surreal to watch Nick as he explored. The Texan's manner as he prowled through his belongings was nearly identical to the way he examined a crime scene.

Before long, Nick's realized his wasn't alone, and as always, he gave Warrick a searching look before speaking. "Hey."

It was all Warrick could do not to pull Nick into his arms and hold on for dear life, but that simply wasn't possible. He visited Nick several times a day, and Nick was aware that they were co-workers, friends and roommates, but Warrick knew he was still essentially a stranger to someone who meant more to him than anyone else in his life. It was the reason he'd stopped spending nearly every waking hour in Nick's hospital room--he didn't think it would help Nick if he was being constantly stared at by someone he barely knew. He couldn't stay away completely, though, and visited Nick as often as he could without making him too uncomfortable.

Strangely enough, this situation was a little less painful to deal with than Warrick had expected. Any hurt at the lack of recognition in Nick's eyes was tempered by the fact that he didn't see pain or shame there, either. Pain and shame he knew he _would_ see if Nick remembered anything that had happened to him. 

That didn't mean it was easy, though.

"Hey," he replied, and glanced out the window. "Aren't your folks coming in?"

"They aren't here," Nick's smile was a bit wry. "Mom wanted to pack some stuff for me, but I asked Dr. Neidiger and she said it would do me good to go out for a few hours, so Suz said she'd take me, then dropped me off here. I wanted some time to myself."

That made sense. Warrick wasn't sure that Nick had been alone more than five or ten minutes since regaining consciousness. "I can take off then, just give me a second to--"

"Oh! No, that's okay," Nick said quickly. "That's not what I meant. I should have said time away from...well."

Warrick couldn't quite stifle his smile, "From your folks?"

"I know that sounds bad."

"Not really."

"Oh, right," Nick shot him a crooked grin. "You've met them."

Warrick surprised himself by letting out a laugh.

"Sorry," Nick shrugged, rubbing his neck. "It's just really weird, y'know? They'd always really stressed independence--self-reliance."

"Well, they've had a bad scare." _Or two_.

"I know. Well...actually I don't. I know what happened--sort of. I mean, it's pretty obvious from my injuries what--" Bright color suffused his cheeks and he cleared his throat, turning to the books that lined his shelves. "So are all these mine, or yours?"

"Those are yours. Most of mine are still in boxes."

Nick frowned.

Although no one had said how much detail Nick could or couldn't be given, Warrick felt that this, at least, should be explained. "I've only been here a few months--haven't had that much time to spread my stuff around. I moved in after my divorce." The barest bones, but at least it was the truth.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Not really an issue," Warrick said easily, because it really did seem like another lifetime. "Typical Vegas wedding--marriage didn't even last the year."

Nick nodded and studied him briefly. "So we're pretty close, yeah?"

For a moment Warrick forgot how to breathe. "Yeah. I guess we are."

"I can tell by the way people talk about you. By the way Cisco and Mom act with you." Nick bit his lip, "But I don't remember you."

Warrick couldn't quite conceal his flinch.

Nick saw it. "I'm sorry."

"Hell, Nick, don't apologize."

Nick's gaze grew distant and a frown creased his features briefly before he shook his head and sighed. "Dr. Neidiger said I'd be able to travel soon. Cisco's making arrangements for us to go to Dallas the day after tomorrow."

 _Oh_.

"Do you think it's a good idea?"

Warrick was struck dumb by the look in the dark eyes. Trust. No recognition whatsoever, but somehow, trust. So even though he wanted to list all the reasons Nick needed to stay in Las Vegas, to make up reasons if he had to, he couldn't betray what was in Nick's eyes. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "And don't think I'm the right person to ask. I think you're better off discussing it with your doctor...or maybe a professional."

Disappointment mingled with approval in Nick's expression. "I'm not really sure, either, but I think I'd like to be somewhere familiar--at least for a little while. I can always come back in a week or two...although I'm pretty sure the folks are figuring on something different." He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, "But hell, they can't _make_ me stay, can they?" 

Warrick had his doubts about that, and it sounded as though Nick did, too.

* * *

Samantha Stokes Blake adored her baby brother for a variety of reasons. Nine years old when Nick was born, she'd been young enough to enjoy having a live doll baby around and old enough to understand that live doll babies squalled and fussed regularly. Besides, big brown eyes, an eager smile and affectionate nature more than made up for the wailing and dirty diapers in Sammie's opinion. As he grew, Nick was a fun-loving, eager-to-please little tagalong who amused more than he irritated and with four other older siblings, it wasn't as though Sammie had him around constantly.

One by one, the older Stokes children went off to college--Susannah and Adrienne to Texas A&M, Brett to Duke and Joss to Rice. Samantha applied to a dozen New England schools and crossed her fingers. She was overjoyed to get into Columbia and tripped up north with a light heart.

When she returned for Christmas break, it was to a very different baby brother--one who barely spoke and rarely smiled. When Sammie asked about it, Meredith--more concerned with her senior year and being head cheerleader--shrugged it off; their father mentioned that Nick had gone through a "sullen spell" but that a pep talk seemed to have taken care of it--he was paying attention in school again, anyway; and their mother's theory was that Nick "misses you all." Sammie had to content herself with that. When she saw him again at spring break, Nick was more like himself. 

Busy with law school and far away, it seemed to her that what made Nick different from his siblings was that he was the only one who never gave their parents any major trouble or scare--the rest of them had gone head-to-head with either Mom or Dad at least once and usually more than once. As far as Sammie knew, the first time Nick ever defied--if it could even be called that--their parents was to drop law in favor of science and transfer from Rice to A&M. It wasn't so much the change of school that surprised everyone as the change of course load. Nick graduated after majoring in Criminal Justice and minoring in Chemistry. He immediately went to work in the Dallas Crime Lab, specializing in hair and fibers. The family of lawyers shrugged their shoulders and let him go to it. The youngest had always been a bit different and they contented themselves with the knowledge that at least he'd chosen to remain in law enforcement.

Sammie's adoration of her baby brother remained just that--the adoration of a baby brother--until Nick had been at the DCL for three years. That's when he applied and interviewed for, then got, a job at the country's second largest crime lab--in Las Vegas. It wouldn't have been a big deal in most families, but the Stokes clan had roots in Texas that went all the way back to when it was a republic. Sammie couldn't think of a single relative--and there were plenty all over the state--that had settled outside of Texas for longer than it took to obtain a degree. Sammie had tried herself, attending Columbia and marrying an architect she met there, but she still ended up in Dallas, a prosecutor in the DA's office while Nate easily got a job with city planning. She was very happy where she was, but still wondered about it. About why she'd never had the guts to make that final break.

It certainly wasn't that she was lacking in courage. Sammie, like the rest of her family, possessed that bring-it-on, damn-the-torpedoes, show-me-what-you-got kind of courage that helped them prevail in any sort of fight. But it took a different type of courage to shake off chains that came from decades of tradition and calmly announce a move two states away. It took a quiet sort of strength that Sammie had no idea Nick possessed, but that she admired greatly. 

It was that same quiet strength that had helped him survive being buried alive and then gave him the courage to admit to his family that he was gay.

Sammie still wasn't sure which of those two things impressed her more.

She'd run the gamut of emotions during the ten days of Nick's ordeal, terror when she heard he was missing, joy when he was found and heartbreak when she learned that the strength she so admired had finally reached its limits. Certain that seeing Nick in that condition would only break her heart into smaller pieces, she hadn't wanted to be at their parents' ranch when they returned, but she was the only sibling who lived in Dallas and didn't have a reason not to be there. Much to her relief, Joss and Leland made the trip up from San Antonio, which eased some of the pressure.

As it turned out, her worries were unnecessary. Without the burdens of the last fourteen years weighing on him, there wasn't much about Nick to break anyone's heart. He was very much the baby brother she remembered from years before, if somewhat bewildered by all the sudden--at least to him--changes. As far as he knew, their parents had only moved out to the ranch a few months before, their father was still a DA and Sammie didn't have any kids, let alone a bright-eyed eight-year-old. What's more, Sammie knew they all _looked_ much different than he remembered. He gave Inez Godoy a grateful hug when he saw her; the housekeeper had been with the family for twenty years, and hadn't changed a bit.

After the round of hugs and kisses, it became obvious to everyone that Nick wasn't back to full strength and that the trip had taken its toll. He went to bed and slept the entire afternoon, barely waking up in time for dinner. Inez, predictably, had made all of Nick's favorites. Both she and Nick were disappointed that he still didn't have enough of an appetite to do the meal justice.

Conversation at the table was stilted and careful. No one--Nick included--really knew whether Nick should be told things that had happened or left to remember them on his own. Add to that the fact that the majority of his missing years had been lived in Las Vegas and no one at the table could be much help there, and things got even more complicated. The safest subjects seemed to be his nieces and nephews, although Nick had a few concerns of his own outside of recovery--"What am I going to do all day? I'm gonna be going crazy inside of a week."

"Honey, you still need a lot of rest," Jillian pointed out. "You probably won't feel like doing much for a while."

"And you'll be seeing that doctor again, won't you?" Joss added, making Nick frown.

"Dr. Volker," Bill said. "Three times a week."

Nick darted a quick look at their father, and his frown deepened. Sammie wasn't surprised. While no one in their family ever spoke _against_ seeing a psychiatrist, no one had ever seen one before, either. Hoping to make things seem natural, she asked, "Is there a set time for them? I can make sure I'm around to take him to at least one a week."

Her husband, Nathan, like all of the Judge's sons-in-law, usually tried not to get too involved in family issues unless asked, but Nate had always liked Nick and strangely enough, Nick always seemed to enjoy the New York native's ingrained sarcasm. There was nothing sarcastic in Nate's tone now, though--he was concerned about Nick. "I'm gonna have a three-day week for at least the next month," he offered. "I'll be free for at least one day a week."

"Then between Bill and I," Jillian nodded. "We can make sure the third appointment is covered."

"I can get myself to the...appointments," Nick said, his jaw beginning to jut. Then his expression fell, "Someone just has to tell me where it is."

Silence fell over the table.

Nick tried again. "That's not what I was talking about, anyway. I was going to look up some of my old friends, but now that I think about it, it's probably not such a great idea. Hell, all my old girlfriends are probably married, so that's out. Anyone wanna set me up with a nice girl while I'm here?" he flashed a grin, but it evaporated when everyone at the table exchanged glances. "What?"

"I think you'd better tell him this one," Leland suggested. 

"Tell me what?"

"Nick, honey..." Joss sounded tentative and Sammie knew why. They had no way of knowing whether Nick had even admitted his preference to himself at this point. "We know you're gay."

Nick froze, paled, and sent another look in their father's direction. "I'm not gay. I don't know what you heard, but--"

"We heard--"

"I was drunk."

Sammie nearly choked on her mouthful, trying not to giggle.

"Nick," there was a hint of a smile on Joss' lips. "This is not about being drunk."

Nick's eyes were firmly fastened on his plate. "This is supposed to be a table full of well-educated people. I can't believe that you all think that just because of what's happened--"

And just like that, it wasn't funny at all. "Oh, darlin', no..." Sammie managed past the lump in her throat.

"You should all know by now that just because I was--"

"Nick," Nate interrupted him. "No one thinks that."

"I don't remember it, but I know about the injur--"

"Oh, honey, don't!" Jillian protested.

"Son, you told us you were gay last summer," Bill's voice broke through the rest of the babble.

His eyes huge, Nick looked around at everyone in the stillness that followed. "How...how'd you all take it when you found out?"

"Better than you," Nate said dryly.

Sammie kicked him under the table. Nate was able to stifle a yelp, but not a wince. She was about to follow it up with a few choice words, but they died in her throat when she saw Nick's face. The smile there was a bit uncertain, but genuine, and very, very relieved.

* * *

Bizarre didn't even _begin_ to cover what his life had become. 

He was thirty-four, according to everyone and everything around him. _Thirty-four_. He'd always assumed he'd be settled down somewhere with 2.5 kids and a dog by the time he was _that_ old. Even stranger, he was thirty-four and being sent to his room for a _nap_. There had to be something wrong with that.

Nick never protested when his mother or Joss suggested he "rest for a while," though. It was actually nice to be able to go into his room--well, his room as long as he was at the ranch--and know he wouldn't be disturbed for a couple of hours. It gave him plenty of time for uninterrupted reflection, and he needed to do a whole lot of that if he was ever going to get his life straight again. Besides, as much as he hated to admit it, he still tended to feel weak-limbed often and lying down a few times a day was necessary.

Thirty-four, but no wife, no kids, no dog. Instead, he was still single and living in Las Vegas. And he was pretty well settled there, if his place had been anything to go by. Did the fact that he thought his own place looked pretty cool make him conceited? Probably just made him a dork. 

So. Thirty-four, single, and living in Las Vegas. Oh, yeah. And gay. 

There was absolutely nothing on the planet that could have ever prepared him for his family knowing he was gay. It was something he'd fearfully suspected for years, reluctantly accepted during his freshman year and finally worked up the nerve to act on last year--no, not last year. His junior year. He was thirty-three last year. 

Damn, it was weird. 

His junior year. Nick couldn't help but smile when he thought of it. Although it had taken a bit of a balancing act to keep anyone from finding out, he'd managed to get in a whole lot of experimentation for six fun-filled months. Until Craig. Nick's smile turned into a scowl. That had just been plain stupidity on his part. Stupidity and a lifelong crush. Nick had been 11 years old when he first met Craig Westerfield--a frat brother of Brett's from Duke--and his admiration had been immediate. It was during Nick's junior year that Craig arrived at A&M as an assistant professor, and Nick was content to continue admiring him from afar. When he met up with Craig at a bar and realized Craig was not only similarly inclined, but interested in him as well, it seemed too good to be true.

It was.

Just over three months into the relationship, Nick discovered that Craig's attentiveness was actually possessiveness. He tried to find a balance, but after another two months of the older man's demanding nature, Nick called it off. Well, he _tried_ to. Craig refused to let him go and threatened to tell Nick's family about his preference. It took a few weeks Nick realize the threat was an empty one and break away completely. 

After he got out of that disaster, he'd decided he would be better off just ignoring that side of himself. The idea of his family--mostly his brother--and his parents--mostly his father--finding out had terrified him. He still wasn't sure what _exactly_ he'd thought they would do--that had always remained unknown and all the more frightening for it. 

But now they knew and he didn't have to worry about hiding who he was--except that he'd already hidden it for fourteen years. Nick rubbed his eyes--this was really messed up.

Then what about the people he met--knew--in Las Vegas? Did they know he was gay? He decided they probably did. He was obviously close to them. Their care and concern for him in the hospital had been obvious and in some ways unnerving. Likely he wasn't seeing anyone, then, because someone would have known about and mentioned it. Warrick, as his roommate, definitely would have known...whoa, bad idea.

Yeah. It definitely a bad idea to be thinking about Warrick while he was in bed.

It didn't matter if Warrick Brown was the coolest, sexiest, most fascinating man he'd ever met or that those green eyes of his were absolutely spellbinding or that the rough velvet voice made Nick's stomach flutter, they were close friends--best friends, according to everyone. Just because he was out didn't give him an excuse to lust after every guy that crossed his path. They were roommates, so presumably by the age of thirty-four he'd either found a way to deal with the attraction or he wasn't actually attracted to Warrick anymore. He couldn't see it being the latter, not unless thirty-four-year-old Nick was a complete idiot.

Thinking about his thirty-four-year-old self as another person was something he couldn't help doing, but he knew it was probably a dangerous habit to fall into. Nick decided to ask Dr. Volker about it. He'd only had two visits with her, but that had been enough for him to know that Dr. Volker was good at what she did. Although he wouldn't say he felt truly comfortable talking to her, it wasn't as _un_ comfortable as he'd expected. He could handle talking to her three times a week without dreading it, and that was the main thing.

Nick stretched and glanced at his watch, then groaned. It was time to take his medication again. He'd be glad when he was done with it, but he still had a couple more weeks of antibiotics. His doctor wanted to be absolutely certain there was no infection as a result of his...injuries.

Now there was something he hoped he _never_ remembered. Bad enough he knew about it, knew by his injuries how horrible the attack had been. Even worse, everyone else knew about it, too. At least while he didn't remember it, people didn't bring it up in his hearing and he could almost pretend it had happened to someone else. Although _that_ was definitely a dangerous habit to start falling into.

Going into the bathroom, he opened the medicine cabinet, but his meds weren't there. Sighing, he went back to the bedroom and checked the bedside table. Yep. Someone--either his mother or Inez--had put them there while he was still dozing to make sure he didn't forget them when he woke up. With another sigh, he shook his head and grabbed the--

_Vicodin._

Nick blinked. He wasn't taking--

_INH._

Involuntarily, his gaze went to the bed.

_Methadone._

He could see the slender form of a young woman convulsing on it.

_She's OD'ing. She's OD'ing right now!_

Nick stumbled back into the wall. He'd watched this girl die. Suicide. 

Swallowing hard, he groped blindly for a chair. He did _not_ want to sit on the bed right now.

 _A memory,_ he realized as he sat. What else could it possibly be? He took several deep breaths and waited to see if there was anything else. There wasn't. Just glassy eyes staring up at him.

He waited some more. Still nothing, so he forced himself to continue what he'd been doing, and took his medication with hands that shook.

Suddenly, he needed air. He needed people. His parents were both at work, but Joss had freed her schedule so that she could stay in Dallas over the weekend. She or Inez had to be around somewhere. He checked the living and family rooms but found no one, nor was Inez in the kitchen or the den. He prepared himself to take a walk out to the pasture and bother Roger, even if the horseman was one of the worst-tempered people he'd ever met, but out back he found Joss by the pool, engrossed in a book.

Relieved, Nick settled himself in the lounger next to her as unobtrusively as possible, wishing he'd thought to bring a book as well. 

"Hey, hon," Joss greeted absently, not looking up from her book.

"Hey," Nick replied, hoping he sounded equally casual. He closed his eyes and did his best to keep his breathing even.

"Are you okay? You're as white as a sheet."

Opening his eyes, Nick saw that Joss had abandoned her book and was sitting up straight, facing him. "I think I remembered something," he made himself say.

"That's great!" Then her smile faded as realization sank in more completely. "What... _what_ did you remember?"

"A girl. She...OD'ed right in front of me."

"A junkie?" Joss frowned.

"I don't think so. You... you don't know anything about it, then?"

"You've never mentioned seeing anything like that."

With another sigh, Nick closed his eyes again.

"It probably had to do with your job," Joss offered.

"In Las Vegas," Nick said, mostly to himself.

"Have you talked to any of the people you work with since you got here?"

"Yeah. Warrick and Catherine both asked me to call when I got settled. I've talked to Warrick and Greg since then."

"Maybe one of them will know."

That made sense. Most of his missing time had been spent in Las Vegas. How was he supposed to find out if his memories were valid while he was in Texas?

"Make sure you tell Dr. Volker about this."

"What? Oh. Yeah, sure."

"Nick." Joss waited until he looked at her. "It's good that this has happened, honey."

He knew that. Logically, at least. But the memory overwhelmed him with sadness. "I'll keep telling myself that."

* * *

"You beat her."

Warrick didn't pause in his task, he was used to hearing Greg say things that seemed to make absolutely no sense. It usually fell into context eventually. "Beat who?"

"Sara. You've blown her overtime record out of the water."

Not looking up from the circular saw he was taking apart, Warrick twitched a non-smile. "How's she taking it?"

"She's worried. It usually takes her three weeks to max out for the month and you did it in just over two."

"She'll get another shot next month."

"I don't think that's what she's worried about."

"With Nick and Westbrook away, we're short-handed. Besides, I've got a lot of hours to make up for."

"I don't think--"

"People think my work is suffering?"

"Are you kidding?" Greg blurted in honest surprise. "The DA practically worships the ground you walk on right now. And everyone figures they'll only have to bring in one person part-time to get us to top speed again."

Warrick finally looked up, pinning Greg to the spot with a glare, "So what's the problem?"

"No problem," Greg hastened to assure him.

"Good. You find any blood yet?"

"Oh...uh...I'm not quite done." Quickly, Greg ducked his head back to the pieces of the miter saw he'd been testing.

Warrick bit back an apology. He felt bad about giving Greg a hard time, but if he _did_ apologize, the younger man would almost definitely see it as an invitation to continue talking. And above all, Warrick did not want to talk. Whenever anyone decided to talk to him, what it really meant was they wanted to talk about _Nick_ , and Warrick did not want to talk about Nick. With anyone. 

The last thing he needed was anyone or anything bringing Nick into his thoughts more than the man already was, and especially not at work. Right now, work was the only real escape he had from thoughts of Nick. The heavy caseload he'd taken on meant he usually had plenty of evidence and clues and suspects to occupy his thoughts, making it easier to keep any of Nick at bay. All the double and triple shifts kept him out of the house--Nick's house--and assured that when he _did_ go home, he was too exhausted to notice how empty it was. That aggravated him--he should be used to living alone. Up until his marriage, he'd had a place by himself since his twenties.

Nick was alive, and that was all that mattered. If Nick's survival meant Warrick never saw him again, then so be it. It someone had offered him that choice, he'd have made it before they'd finished the question. If Nick's well-being depended on him living in Texas or France or Australia, then that was fine with Warrick.

He told himself that over and over, but it didn't even begin to keep him from missing Nick.

It was just over a month since the day of Nick's kidnaping, a month and a lifetime. Warrick hadn't been too surprised to find that as much as he missed his lover--his shy eagerness, his affectionate nature, his beautiful, responsive body--he missed his best friend even more. 

"Blood."

Warrick looked up at the sound of Greg's voice, once again annoyed at himself for letting his thoughts drift while at work.

"Murder weapon," Greg said.

"Maybe not," Warrick pointed out. "People cut themselves on these tools all the time. You know that." His voice came out harder than he intended, and Greg's expression wilted a little.

More angry than ever, Warrick growled under his breath and took out his frustration on the power saw, dismantling it with a vengeance.

* * *

Dr. Volker was pleased to hear about the memories and with some gentle prodding from her, Nick was able to recall that a blonde detective--Sofia Curtis--had also been present. Nick had been introduced to Sofia at the hospital and knew she was a colleague from work. He also remembered that they had been there to arrest the girl for murder. The rest was just the vague, troubled feeling that although it seemed to be work-related, it meant much more. 

There were no more memories for nearly a week, but Nick often found himself with bits of knowledge or information that almost seemed to come out of nowhere. Usually he blurted them out at the worst possible moment. Like commenting "first hit's free" when Leland nearly knocked himself out on a tree branch. His brother-in-law was in no mood to appreciate the explanation that followed.

Or one night when Sammie, Nate and Michaela were at dinner and Michaela, with all the tact of the average eight-year-old, brought up the road kill she came across and the "millions of maggots" thereon. Instead of ignoring such an unsuitable subject for dinner conversation, Nick began explaining just how big a dead animal would have to be for millions of maggots to survive on it. He was about to explain that the maggots would turn into flies soon when he noticed his parents, Sammie and Nate staring at him in disgust. "Nick," was all his mother said, making him feel about seven again. He apologized, trying to hide a grin at Michaela's obvious fascination.

The worst--and yet the funniest--happened the weekend after Joss left, when Meredith came to visit with Douglas and their two boys in tow. Nick was glad to see--meet--Aidan and Dominic who at ten and five years old were outside his current frame of reference. Douglas seemed even more self-satisfied and pompous than ever, and while Nick didn't doubt Meredith's concern for him, she had the unfortunate habit of expressing it using worn platitudes and sounded as though she was doing him a favor. Douglas tended to just look at him, then shake his head and _tsk_. That was just the sort of thing to set Nick on edge.

So as the Stokes', the Charles' and the Blakes sat having coffee and drinks after dinner, they politely listened to Douglas complain about the man the Faith Baptist Church Council chose as the new pastor. Indignantly he insisted the man's doctrine wasn't sound and that he didn't pay enough attention to the Trinity. Once again, Nick's mouth was ahead of his brain and he queried, "Victim, suspect, crime scene?"

Sammie burst out laughing, Mom reproved him with a hint of amusement in her voice and Cisco hid his smile by taking a sip of bourbon. A prosecutor, a public defender and a judge, they could all relate to the statement. Nate was an architect and really had no idea what they were talking about, but he enjoyed Douglas and Meredith's outrage.

Again, Nick apologized and explained, and Douglas' story was forgotten as Sammie and his parents began asking about the memory.

Later that night, Nick overheard Sammie and Meredith arguing. That in itself was nothing unusual--only one year apart and complete opposites, the two of them could start going at it like wet cats at any given moment. This time, though, it was about him. The next day Meredith cut their visit short, giving the excuse of a forgotten church function. Nick felt horribly guilty and wanted to try talking Meredith into staying, but Sammie convinced him not to. "She never got over being Homecoming Queen, honey, that's all."

Nick let it go, actually a bit relieved. Brett, Chantelle and their two children--who Nick remembered as an infant and a toddler--were due in a few days and he was beginning to feel a bit like the family exhibition. What's more, the visits were staggered--apparently no one wanted to risk spooking their baby amnesiac and send him scurrying to a hideout by crowding him too much. 

Dr. Volker became concerned with Nick's agitation and wanted to know the reason. Nick told her about Meredith's visit, but not the impending one from Brett and his family. That was just as well, because most of Nick's concerns were laid to rest when Brett pulled him into a bear hug with a simple but obviously heartfelt, "Hey, little brother." When they separated, Brett let one hand rest on Nick's neck, studying him intently. Nick ignored the unnerving scrutiny as a small price to pay for Brett's obvious acceptance.

So either Brett had done a complete about-face since Duke or Craig had been lying his ass off--it wasn't a tough call.

Once again, there were two more people to watch him when they thought he wouldn't notice. Four more if you counted Alec and Caitlyn, but Nick knew that was more curiosity at his situation than anything else. Still, whether it was concern or curiosity, that didn't make it any less tedious. The ranch, despite its size, often didn't seem to have enough breathing room.

When he first heard that he'd moved to Vegas, Nick had been baffled. Leaving Texas had never been a consideration for him throughout high school or college, but at some point it had obviously become an issue. Now he was beginning to see why he had reached that decision. It didn't matter how much care or concern was involved, it was still tiresome to find that every time he turned around, someone from his family was _right there._ Not a memory so much as a reconciliation to actions that had initially seemed inexplicable and his first real understanding of his 34-year-old self.

The day before they were to return to Houston, Brett suggested he and Nick drive into Dallas for lunch at Belfiore's. Brett always tried to get to the little out-of-the-way Italian restaurant whenever he was in Dallas, never tiring of their Gnocci Bake. Expecting the other shoe to drop, Nick agreed to join him and was surprised that the conversation didn't extend much past Brett's work and recent sports. They were finishing up with cappuccino when Brett began asking questions about Nick's recovery. Most of them dealt with how Nick was feeling, whether he felt good about Dr. Volker, and what they could do to help. And--"So when it comes to your memory, is there anything that can be done to help it along? What about hypnosis?"

"I asked Dr. Volker about that, actually," Nick focused his gaze on his cup. "She said it could be done, but she advised me against it. Supposedly, the memories will only emerge when I'm able to handle them, and forcing them could actually...mess me up even more, I guess."

"Oh." That was all Brett said.

Nick couldn't tell if that was a noise of disapproval or not. "Do you think I should try it anyway?" Then a frightening thought occurred to him, "Do Mom and Dad think I'm taking too long to get over this?"

"No!" Brett said quickly. "Hell, no. Don't worry about that. No one wants you to do anything that'll make this tougher for you."

"Okay," Nick sighed.

"Nick," Brett said, and waited until Nick met his eyes. "Honest, it doesn't matter how long it takes. No one cares about that, we just want--" He broke off with a shrug and took a sip of coffee. 

Nick was torn between squirming with embarrassment at the near-sentiment and wishing his brother would finish the thought.

"All we want is for you to be okay," Brett's voice was gruff. "Nothing else matters."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Nick cursed himself internally for choking up. That had always happened to him far too easily. He'd hoped to outgrow it at some point, but apparently it hadn't happened. He settled for nodding in response to Brett's words, not wanting his voice to give him away.

They finished their cappuccino in silence, then Brett crooked a smile at him. "Ready to go?"

"Sure," Nick grabbed the check.

"Hey," Brett protested. "I got it."

"Nah. I'm getting practically a full salary," Nick replied, holding the paper out of his brother's reach. "Don't have a whole helluva lot to spend it on. So this is courtesy of Clark County."

Chuckling, Brett acquiesced.

As they drove back to the ranch, Nick couldn't help reflecting how strange it was to be getting a regular paycheck--or compensation--for a job he doesn't remember holding.

_I'm a criminalist for Clark County, Nevada._

He'd actually _said_ that to someone--to a woman. Because she'd said, "Mr. Stokes, you're from Texas, aren't you?" And she'd thought that because of that, she had some sort of pull with him.

 _I'm a criminalist for Clark County, Nevada_.

"I know you are, little brother," Brett assured him.

 _Whoops._ That was out loud. Nick closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat.

This wasn't the memory of a single event, just the culmination of something that had been brewing for several days. He was a criminalist for Clark County, Nevada. He'd worked three years at the Dallas Crime Lab without ever being "a criminalist for the City of Dallas." He'd always been the DA's son, a public defender's son, even the hotshot new prosecutor's brother, never a criminalist.

"Are you okay?" Brett sounded concerned.

Naturally. "Yeah, I was just...remembering. Not a major event, just some things that fit together."

"Of what?" Brett stared at him. "Can you--? I mean, is it a good--? Do you need me to do anything?"

"Yeah, watch the road," Nick said, not sure what to do with a rattled big brother.

"Right," Brett faced forward again.

"It's just about work," Nick explained, not wanting to leave him wondering. "In Dallas and in Vegas. Nothing really specific." Except why he moved in the first place, but he couldn't tell Brett that. It would sound awful--and ungrateful.

So now he knew the reasons behind his move to Vegas. 

And now the only question was whether he had a reason to go back.

* * *

Catherine pursed her lips as she looked over the night's assignment slips. What had once been a simple matter was now the trickiest part of her job. It would be easier to leave them for Grissom--the entomologist had no territory issues about who handed them out--but she didn't feel comfortable doing that right now.

Tonight there was a drowning at Treasure Island, an assault at the Golden Nugget and suspicious circs near Southern Highlands Parkway. The rest were lower priority scenes where no one had been hurt.

She'd send Warrick out to the Southern Highlands--she wasn't comfortable with him being in a casino at this time. Suspicious circs could be anything, so she didn't want to send a lone CSI, and that's where the real juggling came in. Warrick didn't work very well with other people these days. His actual _work_ was excellent--he was more tireless and exacting than he'd ever been, just what you'd want in a CSI--but his intensity made even Sara's single-mindedness seem like a joke. In fact, he and Sara had clashed more in the last month than in Sara's first two years in Vegas. Never a big talker, he now rarely spoke and _never_ about anything not directly related to a case, and he didn't care to hear anyone else talking about anything not directly related to a case. Greg was usually a nervous wreck working with Warrick, so that left him out as well. Maybe she'd go out with him until they knew what exactly the circumstances were. Maybe the case didn't require two CSIs.

The drowning would have to go to Grissom, but he wasn't about to go in the water, so Greg would have to go with him. That left the assault for Sara. Catherine winced, depending on what kind it was, things could turn out badly for the case and be tough on Sara. Maybe she could take the assault and Sara could go with Warrick after all. No--suspicious circs would require a whole lot of discussion and Warrick was not particularly tactful right now. Greg usually worked well with Sara, if he went with her, things could remain on an even keel, or better yet, she could send Greg and Sara to the drowning and Grissom to the assault.

Catherine frowned. Send the supervisor to the assault instead of the DB? She knew Grissom wouldn't look at it that way, but others might. Let them, she finally decided with a sigh. It was the lesser of two evils.

As expected, when she handed them over to Grissom, he gave the assignations a cursory glance before handing them out. Relieved--she wasn't sure if he'd noticed her sudden obsession--she headed off to the Southern Highlands with Warrick where suspicious circs turned out to be a double homicide. Blood was found in the house and an hour later, two bodies were found in the shed, along with a hand axe. Interviews with neighbors indicated they probably had a Lizzie Borden on their hands--the grown daughter's car had been seen in the driveway hours before.

It was a big house and a messy crime scene and the sun was shining brightly by the time they finished. It took a bit of effort, but Catherine managed to convince Warrick to grab some breakfast with her. She doubted he'd sat down for a complete meal since Nick's abduction. 

Now that Nick was at least _safe_ , everyone was trying to return to some sense of normalcy. At first it seemed like Warrick had been as well, but then found himself unable to. More than ever, she found herself wondering how deep his feelings went. She waited until the waitress brought coffee and took their order before speaking. "So how you doing, Warrick?"

"M'good," he nodded, gazing out the window.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he turned to her with the beginnings of a frown.

Catherine hesitated, the decided to go for broke and risk pissing him off. "When's the last time you talked to Nick?"

The frown darkened.

"You _have_ talked to him since he got to Texas, haven't you?"

"Of course I have," Warrick scowled. "I don't want to call him too often. He doesn't even know who I am."

That didn't sound right. "So are you looking out for him or yourself?"

"Don't, Cath," he growled.

She was about to snap back, but heard the pain behind his anger. "You must really miss him."

"Don't," Warrick said desperately, pushing back from the table. "Don't."

"Okay," Catherine held up her hands. "I'm sorry."

Warrick turned his gaze back out the window, but Catherine could see his throat working. It made her own tighten painfully.

Although there was still a pile of questions she wanted to ask, she knew he was likely to bolt any second. She was almost certain now of Warrick's feelings, and couldn't imagine the pain he'd been going through. Unfortunately, knowing about it didn't really give her any way to help him.

She signed inwardly. So she had to keep juggling the assignments a while longer. So what? She was getting pretty good at it.

* * *

"Uncle Nick!"

Nick quickly muted the ball game he'd been watching as Michaela raced into the family room. He didn't even have time to ask questions before she was pulling on his arm.

"Cait fell of the pasture fence! She can't breathe!"

Tugging his hand free, Nick ran for the pasture. He hadn't gone far before he met up with Caitlyn limping along the path, one hand against her side. "Hey," he slowed to her pace. "What happened?"

Michaela caught up with them, her eyes huge with worry. 

"I'm okay, Mick."

"You couldn't breathe," Michaela said, almost accusingly.

"Got the wind knocked out of me is all," Caitlyn said, continuing to trudge back to the house. She darted a glance at her uncle, "I was just walking the fence."

"Walkin' the--that's a five-rail fence!"

Caitlyn gave him a "well, _duh_ " look.

Nick knew he should give her hell for it, but it was all he could do to keep from chuckling. Fourteen, maybe, but obviously still a kid. Probably one of the reasons she'd asked to stay in Dallas an extra week was so she could be extra rambunctious instead of having to act cool with the other teenagers. Brett and Chantelle had agreed and said she would fly back at the end of the week or that Alec would make the trip to get her.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" she asked, although her grin suggested she already knew the answer.

"Depends on how badly you're hurt," he replied. Wouldn't kill her to do a little worrying. "You might have to go to the hospital. Why're you holding your side? Did you land on the rail?"

To her credit, Caitlyn didn't jerk her hand away immediately--that would have been a sure sign that a hospital was in order. Instead, she plucked at the tear in her shirt, "I grazed the top rail on my way down."

"Okay," Nick nodded. "We'll go in and I'll take a look at it." Hopefully, he wouldn't have to take her in. That's all they would need. They were the only three people out on the ranch, his parents and Michaela's were all at work and Inez was in Fort Worth visiting her sister on her day off. He knew there had been some reluctance about the situation, but it was decided that everything should be okay since there "would be someone to watch them both."

Nick had no idea if that meant he was babysitting Caitlyn and Michaela or Caitlyn was babysitting he and Michaela. The way his family treated him some days, there was just no telling. 

He led the girls into the house and ushered Caitlyn onto a stool at the kitchen counter. Michaela took the one next to her; now that her fears had been allayed, she didn't want to miss anything that was going on. Crouching down to check the spot, he winced slightly when he saw the scrape. It wasn't deep, but a nice patch of skin had been scratched off and it was going to sting like crazy for a while. He pressed down, watching Caitlyn's expression. Her features tightened a bit, but that could have been from contact with the abrasion. "Take a deep breath," he said, standing again. "As deep as you can."

Caitlyn complied, and there was no hitch when she inhaled.

"Okay, no hospital," Nick said. "But I want to know if it's hurting just as bad an hour from now."

"Okay." Caitlyn sat up straighter, and took another deep breath, then twisted to get a better look at the damage. "Ew."

"Consider yourself lucky," Nick said, grabbing a towel and going to the refrigerator. Probably ice wasn't necessary, but better safe that sorry. She could just keep it on for a little while and then--

_Fifteen minutes, minimum. Twenty would be better. And you don't wrap cracked ribs._

But Caitlyn's ribs weren't cracked, they weren't even--wait. That was Warrick.

That was Warrick talking to _him_. Looking after him. Making him...uncomfortable?

That didn't make sense.

"Uncle Nick, are you okay?"

With a start, Nick realized he was standing in front of the open refrigerator, not moving. Quickly, he wrapped a handful of ice in a towel and handed it to Caitlyn.

Why would Warrick make him uncomfortable? 

_Because Warrick was in his bedroom. Because Warrick was sitting on his bed._

Whoa.

They were roommates--it couldn't be that big a deal. 

Wait. They weren't roommates when this happened. Huh.

So there was something there. Enough of a something that he'd been very aware of Warrick taking care of him when he'd been injured somehow.

That was...interesting.

"Uncle Nick?"

Nick forced himself to focus on the present. As enjoyable as that particular memory might be, he couldn't zone out right now. Michaela seemed calm enough, but now Caitlyn was looking at him with worry. "So, y'all gonna stick pretty close to the house for the rest of the day?"

"Let's go swimming," Michaela suggested.

That _did_ make Caitlyn wince. "I'm not going in the water, but I'll go out and watch you."

"That's no fun," Michaela protested. "Uncle Nick, you come swimming with me."

"He can't," Caitlyn said.

"I can't?" Nick looked at her in surprise.

"He's busy, Mick," she told her young cousin firmly. "He's in the middle of remembering stuff."

Nick was taken aback, as much by her casual manner of explaining her observation as the observation itself. "You're a spooky kid, you know that?" She shot him a grin and he shook his head before turning to Michaela, "I'll go in with you for a while, Shortcake. I'll meet you out there."

With a whoop, Michaela ran off to change. 

"You okay?" he asked Caitlyn, nodding toward her side.

"Uh-huh. You?" she asked innocently.

"Don't be a smartass," he warned, laughing. He went to his room to change, a little relieved to have a moment alone. All he needed was for Caitlyn to join the rest of the family, watching him for the slightest nuance that something might be different about him.

_I saw you beating up the door a little while ago. You all right?_

Nick hesitated briefly. He wasn't sure about the context, but he knew that Warrick was looking out for him somehow. The man seemed to make a habit of it.

As much as he wanted to concentrate on these particular memories, if his family thought he couldn't handle staying with a couple of kids, he'd end up with someone tailing him every minute of the day. He soon found out, though, that it wasn't an easy matter to ignore memories once they decided to emerge. Fortunately, none of them were really _bad_ memories, so it wasn't too difficult to continue on with his day despite the sudden flashes.

He couldn't even consider them whole memories, he decided, since none of them focused on a single event. The only thing they all had in common was that they involved Warrick Brown, so although not disturbing, they were definitely distracting. It was mostly friendly banter, a playful one-upmanship-- _You still harping on the solo thing? You know every time you work with me you learn something._ But there were flashes of anger-- _Why don't you just let me handle my business?_ Of concern-- _Hey, man. You could lose your job over something like this_. And-- _I've got your back again, Nicky_...well, he couldn't always tell what emotions were involved.

When he finally went to bed that night, he lay awake as long as possible, going through those bits of memory again and again. It didn't really surprise him when he woke the next morning to find that Warrick had filled his dreams as well, although when left to his subconscious, things took on a very different caste.

It was frustrating on a variety of levels. Aside from the obvious problem--which was actually simple enough to take care of in the shower--Nick had no way of knowing if what he saw in his dreams were memories, fantasies or even memories of fantasies. He knew that his connection to Warrick Brown went far beyond just best friends, but he couldn't figure out how far beyond and if it was just one-sided.

One thing he knew for certain was that he'd never find out the truth on his parents' ranch two states away.

* * *

Once the idea of returning to Vegas took hold, it was impossible to shake. There were no more actual memories, but something inside began nudging him relentlessly. Wanting to see Warrick was the initial impetus and still the strongest pull, but there were others. For some reason he wanted Dr. Grissom to know that he was handling this--that he could handle things. He wanted to be able to smile at Catherine Willows so that she was reassured he was recovering--it was something he couldn't do when he spoke to her on the phone. He wanted to tease Sara Sidle until _she_ finally cracked a smile; she had been so somber whenever she visited him and Nick knew he could get her to laugh if he tried hard enough. He also wanted the challenge of trying to keep a straight face while Greg Sanders tried to crack _him_ up. He wanted to watch as Captain Brass tried not to let on how worried he was by pouring on that seen-it-all attitude and find the concern peeking through anyway. He wanted Warrick to--

Well, he just wanted Warrick. 

Not only physically, though. The idea of being around Warrick was reassuring. The idea of even being in the same city as Warrick was reassuring.

Dr. Volker had asked him early on if he intended to return to Las Vegas, but at the time it simply hadn't been on his radar. Six weeks later, Nick was the one to bring up the subject with her. She said she could help him arrange for a doctor so he could continue his sessions in Las Vegas and even had some suggestions for those she thought he would do well with. What Nick couldn't get her to tell him was whether she thought it was a good idea. When he finally asked her--flat out, she replied that he was entirely his decision.

That had been something of an epiphany, because he'd certainly never thought of it as _his_ decision. He had planned to get her approval, because armed with it, he had a better chance of convincing his parents to agree. 

Except that, technically, he didn't need his parents to agree.

Of course, that didn't mean it was going to be easy to tell his family about his intentions. They were all acting as though he would be staying in Dallas permanently and up until now, Nick hadn't said a single thing to contradict that.

It was the first time Nick wished that a specific memory would emerge. It would be handy to remember how he told them when he first moved to Vegas. It would be even better to remember coming out to his family the summer before--surely that had been tougher than this.

* * *

"No."

Nick stopped mid-swipe and looked at his father across the hood of the Dodge. He hadn't been asking a question. "Cisco--"

"Your mother and I can't take any more time off right now."

"Oh," Nick laughed. "No, you guys don't have to come with me. I mean, I've already got a place to stay."

Bill resoaked his sponge and began washing the tailgate. "It's not a good idea."

"Why not?" Nick asked, immediately hating how that came out. He just wanted to know his father's reasoning and it sounded like he was whining for permission to take the car.

Before his father could answer, his mother called out in a teasing voice, "Is my car ready?"

Nick grinned in spite of the situation, "All done." They had washed it before the truck.

"Good," Jillian hurried down the driveway, then stopped and looked from her husband to her son. "What's wrong?"

After a quick glance at his father, Nick decided there was no point in trying to avoid it. "I was just telling Dad that I'm thinking of going back to Vegas."

"What?" Jillian looked at her watch. "Honey, I'm sorry but I don't have time to talk about this right now. I'll be late." She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "This meeting is not the way I wanted to spend Saturday morning, but there's no getting out of it." Moving, she gave her husband a peck as well, "Why don't you call Brett? I'm sure he and Chantelle would love to have you visit."

Before Nick could tell her that wasn't exactly the point, she got in her car and drove away. With a shake of his head, he went back to work.

"Okay?" Bill frowned at him. "Now you've got your answer and you can drop it."

"Cisco, I wasn't really askin'--"

"Good. Because you're not goin'."

Nick was speechless. His parents, with their emphasis on initiative and responsibility, had stopped telling him where he could or couldn't go when he was in his mid-teens. That they were trying to do it now astonished and irritated him. He tried once more to explain, "Cisco--"

"I don't want to hear any more about it. I mean it, now."

"Fine, I just thought I'd--"

" _Nick_. Drop it."

"But--"

"You go on in before you tire yourself out. I'll finish up here."

Nick threw his sponge into the water hard enough that water splashed his bare legs, then headed into the house. This was getting to be way too much. Even taking recent events into consideration, it was still too much. It would have been extreme if he'd been 20, but to do it when he was thirty-four was ridiculous.

He had no doubt that the longer he stayed, the worse it would get.

That pretty much clinched his decision.

* * *

Neither of his parents mentioned the subject of Vegas again and Nick, following his father's instructions, didn't bring it up.

It still rankled, though. 

He was a 34-year-old, fully-functioning college graduate, he wasn't a danger to himself or anyone else. Even if his decision to return to Las Vegas happened to be a bad one, he still had every right to make that bad decision, just like anyone else. 

That was the pep talk Nick gave himself several times over the weekend and when Monday came, he told Dr. Volker he was going back to Vegas. Anticipating this, Volker already had several names of people in Vegas with whom she thought he would do well. Nick finally settled on Dr. Anna Werne--she had worked with others in law enforcement and was acquainted with Phillip Kane. Dr. Volker said she would transfer all the information over to her and all he would have to do was make an appointment when he was ready. He was surprised she didn't comment on how fast he was moving and said so, to which she replied that even with his missing memories, he was still as competent--if not moreso--that most people moving in society. Nick thanked her for everything she'd done and said good-bye, promising to keep her updated.

He got home--his family had finally relented and let him drive himself back and forth, mostly because Nick began calling cabs instead of them--and made himself some lunch, then booted up his laptop. He had several options for flights and for a split-second he considered leaving this particular chore until he could ask his parents what time would be most convenient for them.

Then he caught himself--he could leave on any flight he wanted. He could take a cab or shuttle to the airport. If he felt like it, he could book himself a flight to Hawaii or Chicago--hell, even Europe--and no one would be able to stop him. Nah, not Europe. South America--the Galapagos. He had enough room on his credit card and the means to go anywhere he chose, but there was only one place he actually _wanted_ to go. He found a flight that left the next evening at ten with a stop in Houston. Otherwise, he was looking at nine hours worth of air time or waiting nearly a week before going. He booked it before he could change his mind and once he did, a huge weight vanished from his shoulders.

The only thing left now was to pack and break the news to his parents. He felt little nervousness about getting himself to the airport and on the plane. In one of those vagaries of the human mind, there were many things that had never gone away. Neither his cell phone nor his laptop had given him a moment's pause--he'd used both without hesitation. When he flew to Dallas, he didn't wonder at the amount of security at the airport because he somehow knew the reason for it. When he heard "President Bush," he knew it referred to the son, not the father. If it wasn't a personal experience, it somehow escaped the barrier that had slammed down on his memories.

He'd gone over his prognosis with Dr. Volker weeks before and knew that it would be months, possibly even years, before he regained the majority of his memories. Did his family expect him to stay sequestered at the ranch the entire time? 

He couldn't do that. He couldn't miss out on the next few years of his life just because he was missing some of the last fourteen.

* * *

Warrick turned off the television with a grunt of dissatisfaction. He checked the clock again--five hours before he could go back to work.

Catherine had finally convinced Grissom and Ecklie to force him to take off two shifts in a row even though Ecklie probably would have been perfectly happy to continue authorizing overtime for as long as Warrick could work it. In addition to being easier on the budget than hiring and training new CSIs, the DA had been so pleased with Warrick's tireless work that he'd seen fit to mention it to the Sheriff and the Mayor on two separate occasions. It made the lab look good and it made Ecklie look good.

Warrick could have cared less about that. All he cared about was the work--finding the evidence, making the connections, solving the case. Already people had commented that he was becoming another Grissom. Some even meant it as a compliment. Whenever it happened, Warrick always recalled doing the same to Nick during the Kessler case. He couldn't help wondering if Nick had done it for precisely the same reason; because the case, the evidence, the science were the only things safe to think about and--

And dammit, he was thinking about Nick _again_.

Exactly why he wanted--needed--his work to keep him occupied.

He wasn't Grissom, though, and there was no way he would ever achieve that Zen-like, absent-minded professor balance. He couldn't help it, because in addition to keeping his mind off Nick, he also wanted to keep that ever-present demon that hovered just behind him from sinking its claws in.

It was doubly tempting now, because Warrick knew from experience that stopping at a sports book, or even better, sitting down at a table, would take his mind off Nick completely--at least for a little while. He longed for the feeling of euphoria that came with each win, the narrowing of focus to the turn of the next card and the endless anticipation that the next time would be his _big_ win.

So hideously tempting, but he'd managed not to give in.

Yet.

He'd killed two hours today by running every legitimate errand he could think of, then returned home to sleep fitfully for another three. The errands had been carefully planned and very structured. Warrick didn't go anywhere unless he had something specific to do there. There was none of the aimless rambling through the city that he'd always enjoyed. Prowling through the endless time warp that was Las Vegas, he could more easily be drawn into his addiction. Besides, Warrick wasn't sure moving through his city would even hold the same pleasure for him it had before. There was always an element of _searching_ , of sorting through the city's pulse for a nameless something.

That something was no longer nameless. He'd even had it for a painfully short time, but it had slipped through his fingers. 

With a low growl Warrick flung an arm over his eyes. He was disgustingly close to composing another overwrought ballad. If he had his guitar--

Almost without thinking about, he got up and retrieved the Martin. He had no intention of composing--he didn't want to know what he would come up with in his current state--but the idea of any sort of music was suddenly appealing.

He didn't try anything fancy, just old blues standards--the sort of things Gram and Aunt Bertha always loved most. And, now that he thought about it, the old school jazz that Nick preferred.

Eventually, the snarls smoothed out, his anger dissipated and after more than an hour of music, Warrick was able to carefully lay the Martin aside and stretch out on the sofa for a deeper, more restful sleep.

* * *

Although Nick was certain that his decision was the right one, he still balked at actually telling his parents. He found reasons to stall through supper and after, then wound up berating himself for it once he went to bed. He hadn't been raised to put off doing something that had to be done just because it was unpleasant. It really was low not to tell his parents until the morning that he left, so Nick vowed to apologize as well--once they let him get a word in. Even if he was angry, even if they were out of line, that still didn't excuse such piss-poor behavior from him.

During his restless night he even thought about cancelling his flight altogether, but couldn't bring himself to consider it for more than a split-second. Good or bad, he needed to be in Vegas and the sooner the better.

At four o'clock, Nick gave up on trying to sleep and crept out to the kitchen to put some coffee on, then took a quick shower while it brewed. Cup in hand, he wandered outside and strolled down to the pasture in the misty dawn. He'd only gone riding twice during his stay, because ridable horses were scarce on the ranch right now. There was only Whiskey, his mother's bay gelding, and Pepper, Roger Campbell's mare, who was just as ill-tempered as her owner. The other horses--a half-dozen unbroken one- and two-year-olds--came to the fence to have their noses rubbed.

Walking back to the house after watching the young horses for nearly an hour, Nick still found himself looking out of the corner of his eye for Lobo or even Scout, his dad's old pointer. He knew now that Lobo had died about nine years before and Scout just two years ago, but it was one of the more difficult things to get used to.

Everyone was up when Nick got back to the house--his parents at the table and Inez in the kitchen. "What do you want for breakfast?" she asked him as he poured himself another cup of coffee. "I see no mess, so I know you didn't make yourself anything."

Nick forced a smile, even though his stomach was suddenly in knots. "I'm not hungry. Just coffee will do for me, thanks," he saluted her with the cup before joining his parents at the table.

His mother knew something was up right away. "You've got such shadows under your eyes. Didn't you sleep well?"

"Not really."

Bill looked up from his paper at the admission, and Jillian looked worried. "What's the matter? Nightmares? Or more memories?"

"Neither. Uh...I probably should have told you last night, so I'm sorry about that, but--" Nick looked into his coffee cup in the hopes that he would find the perfect way to break the news, but when no inspiration struck, he knew he'd just have to say it flat out. "My...um...my flight for Las Vegas leaves at ten tonight."

"What?" 

Nick darted a quick glance at his father. "My flight for Las Vegas leaves--"

"I heard you," Bill said through clenched teeth. "Cancel it."

"No," Nick said, quietly but firmly.

"You expect us to drop everything and take you to the airport tonight?"

"No, I can call a cab."

"Well, then why bother telling us at all?"

Nick ducked his head before he knew he was doing it, then made the deliberate effort to straighten again. "I only booked it yesterday afternoon, so last night was the soonest I could have told you, and I said I was sorry about that. It was either tonight or wait at least a week, and I don't want to. Wait, that is."

"I can't believe you just went ahead and did this when you already had our answer."

"Cisco, I never asked the question," Nick pointed out, even though nothing he said really seemed to be sinking in.

"If you think for one minute that--"

"Bill."

The Judge subsided at the sound of his wife's voice, which Nick was almost sorry for. As much as he hated dealing with his father's anger, it was still preferable than facing his mother's worry.

"You tried to tell us on Saturday, didn't you?"

"Yeah. I hadn't booked the flight yet, though."

"Did you manage to get last minute on one of those jaunts?" Jillian asked with a hint of a smile.

It took a moment for Nick to catch on, and once he did, he answered without thinking: "No, I got a one-way ticket." 

The silence that fell was suffocating.

"What about your sessions with Dr. Volker?" Jillian asked just before it became unbearable.

"We've already lined up someone for me to see in Vegas."

Another silence.

"Sounds like you've taken care of everything," Jillian said quietly.

"I tried to." Nick could feel his father's eyes on him and met them briefly before dropping his gaze again. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't do I better job of telling you and I'm sorry that you don't think it's a good idea. But I don't think I could make myself be sorry I'm going back, no matter how hard I tried."

"You absolutely have to go back?" 

Nick hated that his mother's voice shook slightly, but it didn't change his answer. "Yeah. I think I do."

More silence, and Nick didn't dare look up until his mother sighed and said--"If your flight leaves at ten, then we should be away from her by seven-thirty."

"Mondays are always a lighter docket," Bill added. "I ought to be able to be back here at five."

Swallowing hard, Nick couldn't have looked at them now if his life depended on it. He heard his mother get up from the table, and felt lips press his hair. "Now try to get some sleep," she advised. 

"You packed, Pancho?"

"Not yet."

"Better take care of that."

"Yes, sir."

His stomach unclenched enough that Nick was able to eat the omelet Inez foisted on him and once his parents left for work, Nick went back to bed. A full belly and lightened heart allowed him to sleep peacefully until mid-afternoon. He still had to pack, but it wasn't the major chore his father had made it out to be, since most of his things were still in Vegas.

As promised, his parents were back by five o'clock, along with Sammie, Nate and Michaela who had apparently been informed of his departure. If nothing else, Nick reflected, his return meant an end to the havoc of the family's schedules. Neither his parents nor his sister had regular nine-to-five jobs and Nick didn't want to think about how many dockets or cases had been shuffled, switched or postponed on his account.

He wasn't terribly surprised that everyone went with him to the airport or that it took a tremendous amount of hugs, kisses, assurances he'd be fine and promises to call daily before they let him go through the gate. Not until his plane was finally in the air did Nick relax--he wouldn't have put it past them to stage some last minute intervention. And it wasn't until his flight had landed and taken off again from Houston that Nick realized he'd goofed. Big time.

He hadn't told anyone in Vegas he was coming. Warrick Brown was the _reason_ he was going to Vegas, the person who had been in his thoughts the entire time he'd been making his plans, and somehow he never got around to telling him. Well, he had Warrick's cell number somewhere--he'd call once they landed.

Or...

He had his key and the security code, and it was his house, too. Warrick would probably be at work, so it would be a simple matter to just catch a cab and let himself in. Because really, if he was already such a dumbass for not calling before he left Dallas, did it really make much difference now? Besides, Warrick would undoubtedly leave work once he heard--Nick knew that instinctively--and it might be nice to have some time alone to get used to things.

Nick studiously ignored that knowing voice in the back of his mind that said he _wanted_ to take Warrick by surprise. To see his honest reaction.

With a groan, he leaned back in his seat.

"Something wrong?" asked the woman in the seat next to him.

"Sorry," he said. "No, I just forgot something." Then he realized what an understatement that was and laughed.

"Something important?"

Still amused at his own words, Nick gave her a smile, "I'll find out when I get there."

* * *

After two shifts off, Warrick was ready to work a double or even a triple, but it was an unnaturally quiet night and he couldn't find a legitimate reason to stick around once the sun came up--not with Catherine still keeping a close eye on him, anyway. There wouldn't be any breakfast out, unless he felt like eating alone--which he didn't. Co-workers had stopped asking him along weeks before. If _he_ made overtures, they probably would accept, but he wasn't up to the effort.

Home it was, then and although he didn't hate being there as much as he used to, the idea was still unappealing. Nothing else appealed either, though, so he went home where he was least likely to get himself into trouble.

He walked in with no real idea of how he was going to kill the day, and then all other ideas disappeared when he laid eyes on the man emerging from the kitchen. It took a minute for Warrick to realize what he was seeing and several more for him to believe it was real.

"Hey," Nick said and when Warrick didn't--couldn't--respond, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. The familiar gesture made Warrick's heart stutter even as Nick plowed on gamely. "I...um, I was so busy making arrangements to get back that I forgot the most imp--"

Four strides carried Warrick across the room and in as many seconds he was clutching Nick close, not taking the time to wonder whether his actions were out of line or not. For a moment, it was as though nothing had ever gone wrong. It could have been any other morning--one or the other getting home from a rough shift. 

A very rough shift, considering how tightly he was holding Nick. It took a while for Warrick to realize that he might actually be making it difficult for Nick to breathe. He tried, but couldn't bring himself to loosen his hold more than a fraction.

Nick didn't seem to mind. He certainly didn't object and in fact, almost seemed to be...snuggling in a little.

Finally, Warrick forced himself to pull away. He needed to find out where things stood before they went any further. It might have been wishful thinking on his part, but it seemed that Nick was equally reluctant to separate.

As Nick's word's finally sank in, it occurred to Warrick that he should be pissed off at Nick for not giving him any warning, but being angry or even mildly annoyed was an impossibility. Nick was _here_ and Warrick's happiness--joy...hell, words were useless. It was beyond quantifying.

Nick seemed to be suffering from something similar, and they both stood smiling at one another somewhat foolishly.

Warrick thought of and abandoned many greetings, and what finally came out was--"What the hell, Nick?"

"I...uh..." A small, self-conscious laugh. "I missed...Vegas."

"Then you've been remembering a lot of stuff?"

"Well...no. But what I _did_ remember was enough for me to realize I'll probably make more progress here than in Dallas."

He wanted to ask. He wanted to ask so badly it was almost a physical ache, but Warrick wasn't about to risk dredging up memories Nick wasn't ready for. Shortly after Nick returned to Dallas, Warrick paid the lab's psychiatrist a visit. Deftly avoiding Phillip Kane's questions about his state of mind, Warrick had interrogated him on Nick's amnesia. Kane has stressed that prompting or trying to prompt memories before they emerged on their own could be detrimental. So until Nick brought it up--he wouldn't.

Nick had his hands shoved in his pockets as he looked around, then back at Warrick. "Like I said, I'm sorry about not letting you know. I should have called when I was just thinking about coming back. I want to make sure I'm not upsetting any plans."

"What?" Warrick was still having trouble moving beyond the fact that Nick was right there in front of him.

"Me showing up like this. Is it a problem?"

Warrick laughed, but at the same time his vision blurred slightly. "No. No problem at all."

"Okay," Nick nodded and looked around again. "Okay, good."

For a split-second, Warrick almost invited Nick to sit down, but caught himself--it was Nick's sofa. "So what are you gonna--? I mean...now that--well. You got any plans?" God help him, he hadn't sounded that lame since high school.

Nick didn't seem to notice. "Not really. The only thing I really have to do is set up my schedule with Dr. Werne. Other than that...nah, I didn't plan a whole lot. I just kinda made a break for it, yeah?" His tongue peeked out between his teeth as his grin turned mischievous.

It was impossible not to grin back. "Do your folks know you're here?" Warrick asked, only half-joking.

The smile widened, "Yeah, they know. Not crazy about the whole thing, but they know." Nick shook his head, "Mom thought I'd caught a ride on one of those junkets."

"When _is_ your flight back? Or is it flexible?"

"It's nonexistent. One-way, man."

Warrick nodded, clenching his jaw and tensing every muscle in his bodies. He had to hold himself completely still, because if he didn't he'd make a complete fool of himself with some stupid victory dance.

Nick noticed his reaction, though, "That okay?"

"Stop asking that, Nick. Trust me, anything you want to do is fine."

Nick tilted his head to the side and frowned slightly in an expression Warrick was familiar with. It usually meant Nick was trying to puzzle something out to his satisfaction. Of course, under these circumstances, it could also mean he was trying to remember something. He took a deep breath before speaking again. "Warrick, how much..? We, uh...were we..?" He took his hands out of his pockets only to shove them back in seconds later. "So you just got off work, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So you probably need to go to sleep."

"Nah, I'm good for a while," Warrick assured him.

"Do...do you want to maybe go get something to eat? I looked in the fridge and there's nothing there."

"I haven't been home much," Warrick admitted. "Breakfast sounds good, though. How about we go to The Egg?"

"The...Egg," Nick considered it briefly, then nodded. "Sure. Um...maybe you could point out a grocery store along the way. I can stock up on food later."

Warrick grinned again. Nick never liked having an empty fridge. "Will do," he took his keys back out. "Let's go."

Nick moved forward before Warrick had taken and a step, walking right into him, then stumbling back quickly. Automatically, Warrick put an arm out to steady him, and somehow it snuck around the trim waist.

 _Think of something to say, Brown. And it better be something nice and simple._ "I'm glad you're back, Nicky." The words were innocent enough, but emotion was still making his voice husky.

The dark eyes widened and Nick tongue snuck out again, this time from nervousness. "Me, too," he finally said when he stepped away.

Warrick tried for a friendly, buddy smile, but wasn't sure he pulled it off.

The smile Nick gave him in response was suddenly shy, but not uncomfortable.

"Better get going," Warrick said, breaking the sudden silence. Maybe once they were in public with a table between them he'd be able to think properly and hold a reasonable conversation.

* * *

Greg tried not to flinch when he was assigned to an arson with Warrick and Sara. He knew Grissom and Catherine both had to work the case of ex-Sheriff Rory Atwater's death. Although he certainly didn't want to work the Atwater case with all the politics and possible intrigue that were sure to arise, he wasn't looking forward to having to tiptoe around Warrick all night either. Even worse, Sara could rarely be bothered to tiptoe around anyone and Warrick no longer made the effort to diffuse her when she got riled. 

That left him to referee. Greg was willing to take on either one of them if he absolutely _had_ to, but _both_? No, thank you. Wacky, yes, but he wasn't stupid.

But for once Warrick wasn't scowling when he showed up for work. He even seemed to be relaxed and when Sara grabbed the assignment slip, saying, "I'll drive," he just looked at Greg and rolled his eyes in resignation.

At first, Greg wondered if he was seeing things, but when they got to the scene and their arson turned out to be a torched van, it was Warrick who kept his cool and calmed down the fuming Sara before getting out to find out what was going on. He returned to tell them that dispatch had mixed up the codes--at least according to the uniform who called it in--and suggested they do the necessary processing on the spot before auto detail showed up. "Detective Wolfe is talking to the neighbors," he added before going around to open the back and get their kits.

"I'm surprised there isn't a crowd," Sara commented as she looked up and down the street of immaculate lawns. "I doubt they see many burning vehicles."

When Warrick and Greg finally managed to get one of the back doors opened, everything changed. "Oh, yeah. They definitely got the code wrong. This is a 419."

"DB?" Sara popped up from the front.

"Two, I think. Greg," Warrick gave him a quick look. "You want to call it in?"

Greg saw the look, and knew Warrick was checking his reaction because they were burn victims, so he gave a quick nod and a little smile before pulling out his phone, listening to the other conversation with half-an-ear.

"So now we have to wait for auto detail _and_ the coroner," Sara said as she joined them.

"Yeah, and no coffee shop around here."

"Good thing it's another slow night."

"Don't say that too loud," Warrick warned. "You'll jinx us."

Twenty more minutes was all it took to process as much of the van as they could. They got back in the Denali to wait. Through it all, Warrick was not only relaxed, but actually in a good mood, teasing Sara playfully so that she couldn't help but overlook their recent animosity. Greg was tempted to do some teasing of his own--that Warrick had either met someone or got some on his night off, but he wasn't ready to push his luck _that_ much.

They could only banter so long, being a little out of practice, and eventually the truck fell silent. After about ten minutes, Warrick broke it by announcing, "Nick's back."

"What?" Sara said blankly. Greg didn't blame her--he wasn't sure he'd heard right, either.

Warrick seemed to understand their reaction. "He didn't tell me, either. I got home after shift and there he was. I guess his family was fighting him on it so he just packed up and left before they could really stop him."

"He's there right now?" Sara demanded. "Alone? Is he okay on his own? How much does he remember?"

"He's fine to look after himself. He got to Vegas on his own."

"So he's been here all day? Why are we only hearing about it now?"

Greg kept quiet. Sara was asking all the questions he wanted the answers to, anyway.

"Sara," a hint of impatience had crept into Warrick's voice. "He's doing okay and he seems pretty happy to be in Vegas, but he hasn't remembered a whole lot. There's still stuff in his house he didn't know he had--he's got that to get used to for a start. Hell, he was thrilled to death to find out the truck in the driveway was his."

A snort of laughter escaped Greg and that cute gap-toothed smile of Sara's got away from her. "What about us?" Greg asked when amusement subsided. "Does he remember us?"

"That's--" Warrick turned hesitant. "He seems to know us all, beyond just when he met everyone in the hospital, but he doesn't actually remember...he has barely any memories of interactions with us. A few, but nothing...major."

Greg blinked. Warrick sounded...wistful. Warrick never sounded wistful and Greg found it far more unnerving than any of his foulest moods. Before he could give it much thought or ask more questions, the coroner arrived, reminding everyone they were still on the clock. Once the bodies were removed, they had to finish processing what they could on the spot, then seal the van for transport.

It wasn't until he was in the lab, sifting through debris swept from the scene that Greg recalled thinking Warrick's good mood was because he'd gotten lucky. _It was just because Nick was back._ He chuckled to himself, then froze, the small scoop he was using stopping in midair.

_Whoa._

_Oh._

_No. No way._

He thought of Warrick's wistful voice saying Nick didn't remember anything major.

**_Oh._ **

* * *

When they got back after breakfast, Nick was ready to crash. He'd been up all night and while that wouldn't normally have done him in, the difficult good-byes to his family along with the expectations and nervousness of returning to Vegas and seeing Warrick left him exhausted mentally and emotionally. 

He was determined to stay awake, though--he didn't want to miss out on any time with Warrick. His memories and even his fantasies were nothing compared to the impact of seeing the man in person. He was like a moonstruck calf, wanting to be around Warrick as much as possible--he only hoped it didn't show. If it did, Warrick didn't seem to mind, or was too nice to say so. Nick had to stay on guard, because Warrick was constantly looking in his direction, and he didn't want to be caught staring. 

Just as he hung up the phone after setting up a schedule with Dr. Werne, another huge yawn overtook him. He opened his eyes to find Warrick watching him with a hint of a smile and a few minutes later, Warrick said he was going to turn in. Nick suspected it was for his benefit, since Warrick didn't seem at all tired, but he didn't protest--sleep seemed like a really good idea.

During his first survey of his room, Nick hadn't realized just how big his bed was, but the thing was bigger than king-sized. What the hell had prompted him to buy it? Maybe it meant he got a lot of action.

Once he lay down, he stopped caring _why_ he bought it and just enjoyed it, sinking into a mattress that perfectly fit all his body's planes and angles. He slept soundly until after six and woke to find that Warrick had ordered pizza for supper.

He was inordinately pleased that Warrick had got his favorite toppings until he realized that after years of hanging out together it was probably nothing more than habit. He was so happy to be where he was that he didn't let it bother him for very long, nor did he worry that the conversation was still a bit hesitant.

It was strange telling Warrick about all the memories he'd recovered so far. Nick had grown used to his family, who always tended to try prompting more information by asking leading questions or dropping hints, but Warrick didn't do that. In fact, he seemed to make a special effort _not_ to do it. Nick wondered about that as well, but most of his concentration remained focused on not coming across as a total doof.

After supper Nick called home again while Warrick cleaned up, refusing his help. Although he'd left a message that morning to let them know he'd arrived just fine, he knew his parents wouldn't be satisfied with that. He spent a good twenty minutes assuring them all was well and promising to call again before they'd let him hang up.

Warrick left for work and Nick began a more thorough examination of his place after having reached two decisions. First, he decided that he was going to keep his former work schedule. It only made sense to keep the same hours as...the people in Vegas he was closest to. The second was to stop thinking about Warrick _quite_ so much.

To that end, he began going through his crowded bookshelves. He'd already noted the set of encyclopedias he'd received for his sixteenth birthday, amused and surprised that he still had them. The biggest bookcase was filled from top to bottom with books that dealt with forensics in some way. Nick pulled books out at random and looked through them, checking for anything that might prompt a memory.

Nothing did, and the whole situation was a bit unnerving. Although he didn't remember the information in the books, nothing he read was exactly new to him, either. Did that mean that like his laptop and phone, the data would just be there when he needed it? That anything he had to know would just return once he found himself at a crime scene? Nick didn't see how that was possible, but then, he had a difficult time picturing himself at a crime scene. He'd never admit it to anyone, but the idea of spending that much time around dead bodies seriously freaked him out.

Taking one of the larger, more general volumes, Nick settled himself on the sofa to relearn a few things, but despite his best intentions, his mind kept drifting back to Warrick. Especially to the way Warrick had hugged him so hard it hurt, setting off a myriad of emotions.

Initially, Nick was just plain thrilled to be up against what looked--and felt--like an absolutely fantastic body, and had to concentrate like hell not to give it away. Besides, his libido was nothing next to the feelings of complete security and utter contentment of being in Warrick's arms, and the closer he was, the more certain the feelings. He could have happily stayed there for hours on end.

Looking back on it, Nick began to wonder if Warrick's embrace _was_ more than that of a good friend or if he was letting desire cloud his judgement. Shame he couldn't think of a way to get another hug from Warrick--maybe then he'd be able to figure it out.

Or maybe he really _was_ moonstruck.

* * *

Warrick got home from work to find a full fridge and Nick at the stove. The scent of sausage and potato pancakes wafting up from the frying pan made his mouth water. "Got to the store, huh?"

"Yeah," Nick glanced over at him. "Little weird going grocery shopping at four in the morning, though."

"You get used to it," Warrick assured him. He walked in and peeked over Nick's shoulder. "Which sister taught you to make that?"

"Adrienne," Nick replied with a startled laugh. He shot Warrick a look of disbelief, "I told you about that?"

"How your sisters each taught you to cook something so their baby brother wouldn't go hungry? Oh, yeah."

"Oh, man," Nick shook his head. "Do you want any?"

"Hell, yeah," Warrick moved to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Nick grinned and got some plates. "What about you? Can you cook?"

"I can make a mean ham sandwich and that's about it."

"So I do all the cooking around here, is that what you're telling me?" Nick jibed as he began filling a plate. "That doesn't sound--"

Warrick glanced up when Nick fell silent and was about to ask what was wrong until he noticed the look of intense concentration on Nick's face. Thinking he had to be remembering something, Warrick kept as still as possible and waited.

Finally, Nick moved, and finished filling the plate he'd been holding, a perplexed frown replacing the look of concentration.

"Nicky?"

Nick turned, giving him another of those searching looks.

"Did you remember something?" Warrick asked, his voice hushed.

"I--" Nick handed his a full plate. "Yeah. I think so."

"Can you tell me what it is?"

Nick met his eyes again, then looked away. "I think I'm gonna have to let this one sink in for a while."

Warrick wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but didn't want to press Nick on it. On the other hand, if it was serious, he didn't want Nick bottling it up, either. "Are you okay?"

"Yep," Nick nodded, filling up a plate for himself. "Yep, I'm good."

The memory didn't seem to be anything bad, but Warrick still wanted to know what it was that would bring a flush to Nick's cheeks. If Nick remembered anything about their relationship, wouldn't he say so? Warrick felt sure he would. Still, even if-- _when_ , Warrick told himself--Nick remembered them, that didn't mean it would be best to simply pick up where they left off.

Warrick had gone through all sorts of scenarios about this situation, when normally he would trust his instincts. He couldn't do that this time, not when every instinct told him to keep Nick safely hidden away from the rest of the world--preferably in his arms.

He glanced at Nick, only to find those dark eyes fastened on him again before Nick quickly dropped his gaze. "So...how was work?"

"Fine," Warrick replied, easily shrugging off a job that, days before, had been the entire focus of his life. "I told the rest of the team you were back." His heart sank at Nick's shocked expression--he hadn't even considered whether he'd actually had the right to go ahead and tell everyone. "Nick, man, I'm sorry. I didn't--I just thought--"

"It's okay," Nick assured him quickly. "I should have called them myself, yesterday. I just--"

"Hey, you've got a lot going on."

"I'll call everyone today."

Warrick finished breakfast on automatic pilot. For a brief time, he'd had Nick all to himself, and a little part of him now regretted not _keeping_ that bit of information quiet.

Well, maybe more than a little.

* * *

Shortly after they finished eating, Warrick got a call from the DA for an emergency meeting. The defense was challenging some of his evidence, and they needed to go over it again. Nick was actually a bit relieved to hear that he'd be gone for much of the day. Breakfast had been uneasy, although Nick knew he was more to blame for that than Warrick. Well, not so much _him_ as the memory--Nick hoped it was a memory--of coming home to find that Warrick had gotten take-out for breakfast.

 _Spoiling me already_?

That was not something he'd say to a buddy. What's more, he had the vague notion that he was being embraced when he said it. 

Maybe they had been together at one point and were now just friends. Maybe-- _oh, God_ \--maybe they'd been together and Warrick was glad to be out of it.

No.

Warrick wouldn't do something like that. And his actions didn't suggest he was trying to avoid Nick.

Since his memories usually came when he wasn't trying to remember, Nick turned his attention elsewhere and began making phone calls. He felt it was only right to call Dr. Grissom first, and that call was very...formal, somehow. He'd been hesitant--it was a bit odd to call without something specific to discuss, but Grissom sounded glad to hear from him. Most of the conversation centered around what arrangements Nick had made and Grissom asking whether there was anything he could do to help. His concern touched Nick deeply, but he was quick to assure the entomologist he had everything under control.

Catherine, whom he had talked to most often from Dallas, was the person he called next, but there was no answer, so he dialed Greg's number. Although Greg sounded a bit uncertain at times, there was no mistaking how glad he was that Nick was back in Vegas. Almost before Nick knew it, they had made arrangements to meet for dinner.

Sara scolded him playfully for several minutes, then talked about work. Nick enjoyed both more then he expected, and quickly invited her along for dinner. She agreed immediately.

He was even more hesitant about calling Jim Brass than he'd been about calling Grissom, but the delighted "Nicky!" let him know it was the right decision and brought a smile to his face. The gruff concern and advice kept the smile there for the duration of the call.

He got through to Catherine on his second try, on her way to a meeting with Conrad Ecklie and the Sheriff and still up to her elbows in the Atwater case. Not wanting to keep her from work, Nick made the call a short one. The second after he hung up, there was a knock on his door. Nick didn't even get it fully open before Catherine was inside, hugging him tight.

"I can only stay a minute," she said once they separated. "I'm already running late, but I had to see you in person."

"I'm sorry. I should have told you when I got in, or even before I left Dallas, but--"

"Don't worry about it, Nicky. If you need time on your own, that's fine. And if you want one of us for something, just holler, okay? Whatever you need to get yourself where you have to be, okay?"

The blue eyes were soft, her concern for him almost palpable. Nick felt that he could probably tell her anything. He was tempted to ask if she knew of anything between him and Warrick, but didn't want to put her on the spot. 

Besides, she had a meeting to get to. "Thanks, Cath," he said, feeling his lips curve.

"I missed that smile." Catherine gave him another squeeze, "I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay."

As Nick closed the door behind her, he found he was still smiling. 

The brief visit prompted not so much a memory as another necessary reminder. As much as Warrick meant to him, Nick knew he had to turn at least _some_ of his attention elsewhere. Such tunnel vision wasn't good for him or his recovery, wasn't fair to his other friends, and it put far too great a burden on Warrick.

Nick wanted to be a lot of things to Warrick and a burden definitely wasn't one of them.

* * *

By the beginning of his second week back, Nick had established something of a routine. He had sessions with Dr. Werne three times a week, he went to the gym every second day and saw friends from work nearly as often. The rest of his time was spent working his way through his library to refresh his knowledge, exploring Las Vegas, and continually turning the Warrick question over in his mind without letting on that's what he was doing.

Memories began to emerge on a regular basis. Most of them were fairly mundane, just snippets of cases or interaction between friends. Some of them were so ordinary that Nick wasn't sure he'd remember them under normal circumstances. According to Dr. Werne, these were the safest of his memories, so it was only natural they emerge first. His "major" memories were likely to be more sporadic. Nick hated that part. He hated knowing there was a series of horrible memories just waiting to come out. When he thought about it--something he did as little as possible--he could never decide if he wanted them to emerge immediately so he could just get it over with, or if he hoped they never did.

There were so many things he was trying _not_ to think about that it was a wonder he was remembering anything at all. It was frustrating. Nick wanted to get on with his life--such as it was, and it sometimes felt as if his doctors were preventing that. Work--any sort of work--was discouraged by both Dr. Werne _and_ his regular physician. Nick thought that kicking back in Texas for six weeks would have been enough to heal any injuries, but Dr. Jeffries wasn't taking any chances. Still concerned about muscle damage, he'd only approved the lightest workouts. Nick didn't agree, but he followed the doctor's orders.

His internal injuries were healed, as were the bites and cuts, and although the ugly burn on his shoulder was still tender, it didn't cause too much trouble. As far as he was concerned, he was fit for work physically, but knew he still had a long way to go in nearly every other area.

Not that he needed to work. He was already cleared to receive compensation for a year and between his insurance and Clark Country, all the bills for his recovery were being taken care of. He still had difficulty spending money he didn't quite feel he'd earned, but when he discussed it with Dr. Werne, she was able to resign him to it.

After just a few sessions with Dr. Werne, Nick already knew he'd make excellent progress with her. She reminded him of Sammie at times, of Catherine at others, and he felt comfortable enough with her to discuss anything--almost.

He still hadn't mentioned his feelings for Warrick. He'd barely mentioned Warrick, other than as his best friend, because he _still_ didn't know if it was more than that. At times he'd tried to reach some sort of conclusion by looking at Warrick's actions objectively, but without success. What's more, the memories that continually emerged about Warrick clouded things more than they clarified.

They were close and had been for years. That, at least, was readily apparent in nearly every memory. Even in the memories from earlier on, when they hadn't been working together that long, Nick could sense the potential for the friendship that would develop. The problem came with the memories that could be interpreted in more than one way--and there were a _lot_ of them. Nick could never be sure he wasn't putting his own slant of them.

Nick had no idea what triggered his most recent memory--one involving a guy named Mark in a club. They were sitting at the bar talking and flirting a little. Even though Mark himself didn't register much in Nick's consciousness, he got the feeling they hadn't just met. Mark had leaned in to ask Nick if he wasn't already with Warrick, who was at the end of the bar talking to a beautiful woman. Nick remembered saying they were just friends and being fairly certain that he meant it.

And yet...

Again, it wasn't so much a memory as a feeling that Warrick hadn't liked him talking with Mark.

Jealousy, maybe?

There was something more. There _had_ to be.

Two things Nick had learned--or had already known--about Warrick were that he tended to be overprotective and that he had one hell of a poker face. If-- _if_ , Nick reminded himself firmly--there was anything between them, maybe Warrick didn't want to prompt the memory for fear of hindering his progress. Nick had noticed that Warrick never tried to prompt or expand on his memories, even though there had been times when he obviously wanted to. There were times when Warrick would begin to say something, then abruptly catch himself.

The only way Nick would know for certain would be to mention it outright. That was fine if it was true, but a horrible disaster if it wasn't. Nick squirmed with embarrassment at the mere idea. There had to be another way to find out for sure.

Nick went to the kitchen to begin making something for breakfast. Warrick had insisted he didn't have to always make breakfast, but Nick didn't mind--it was something else to keep him occupied. He chopped up onions, pepper and tomatoes and tossed them in with the eggs he was scrambling. It was one of the few things no one had taught him how to make and it had the added bonus of being pretty good warmed up, in case Warrick happened to work a double. 

Not that Warrick worked too many doubles--only one since Nick had been back. Nick found that strange, since they would obviously be short-handed at the moment, and Warrick had said he was working a lot of triples and doubles. Something else that could be telling if looked at one way, but mean nothing if looked at another.

Nick wrapped some eggs up in a couple of tortillas and poured a big glass of juice. He was just settling himself on the sofa when Warrick walked in. They exchanged hellos and when Warrick saw what Nick was eating, he went straight to the kitchen. He ate his as a sandwich instead of a wrap, but he'd said several times it was one of his favorite breakfasts. 

It was also one of the simplest, and _that_ was the reason Nick made it so often.

Warrick joined him in the living room, making himself comfortable in the recliner he seemed to have adopted--or maybe it was his and he'd moved it in, Nick didn't know. As always, Nick quizzed him about work, and as always, Warrick then asked how Nick's night went.

"Remembered something else," Nick said. It was actually beginning to become a fairly common answer.

"Yeah? What about?" Warrick never failed to put on that poker face until he heard what Nick's memory was.

"Uh...well, I was at a bar with this guy. Mark?" Nick watched Warrick's expression.

His features tightened, but Warrick's voice was utterly bland when he said, "Mark?"

It was a little _too_ bland and Nick put another mental check in the _something there_ column. "Yeah, but I'm not seeing him or anything, am I? I mean, you would tell me if I was seeing someone, wouldn't you?" When Warrick didn't reply he pressed on, just to see if he could get a reaction, "I don't know who was buying who drinks, but he seemed pretty into me."

"Mark," Warrick said again. "You remember _Mark._ "

There was a hollowness to his voice that made Nick's stomach clench painfully. He had only meant to provoke, and maybe tease a little, but this wasn't fun. This _hurt_. It hurt both of them, and Nick scrambled to fix the situation. "I probably only remembered him because he mentioned you."

Warrick relaxed slightly. "Yeah? What did he say?"

"He wanted to know if you and I were together." Even though it wasn't technically _asking_ , saying that to Warrick gave him butterflies.

"What did you say?"

That came out _way_ too casual, as far as Nick was concerned. It hadn't really occurred to him before that Warrick would be just as freaked by the situation as he was, that he might have his own fears about discussing any relationship. It still wasn't enough to make him broach the subject head on, though. "Well, I was kinda surprised he was askin', since you were hooking up with a woman at the other end of the bar."

"Oh." Warrick looked both disconcerted and disappointed. Not that Nick blamed him--he had deliberately not answered the question.

Nick sighed, and decided not to go any further, even though he was now more convinced than ever. He knew that it was important for him to regain as many memories as possible on his own, but weren't there some exceptions? Wasn't this important enough to _be_ an exception? To bend those rules a little?

It was the only thing that kept Nick from being _completely_ convinced, since he didn't think Warrick had too much of a problem bending the rules when the situation warranted it. And this situation warranted it. Even if the memories weren't there, the feelings _were_.

There had to be some way to make Warrick see that.

* * *

Assigned to a double out by Lake Mead with Greg, Warrick drove most of the way in silence. Greg made a few attempts as conversation, but Warrick did his best to shoot them down. Not quite as forcefully as he would have two weeks ago, though. Warrick was aware that the younger man had only recently begun to relax around him again, so rather than snapping, he kept his replies to noncommital grunts. It was enough to let Greg know he had a lot on his mind, but apparently not enough to put him off completely.

"How's Nick doing?"

That was a bit of a strange question considering Greg had spent several hours at their place the day before battling it out with Nick on X-Box. "He's fine."

"Something happen?"

Warrick felt a scowl beginning to form. "Like what?"

"Like any memories? Anything serious?"

Warrick shook off his mood in the face of Greg's concern, "No. Nothing like that."

"Oh. Okay."

His eyes on the road, Warrick heard Greg take a deep breath as if in preparation of speaking, and when no words followed, he glanced over. Greg abruptly turned rather than meet his gaze and looked out the window. Evidently he'd changed his mind about whatever he was going to say.

Warrick concentrated on his driving, because really, what was he supposed to say to Greg? Should he tell him that Nick was probably going to drive him crazy long before his full memories resurfaced?

Nick began dropping some pretty blatant hints after their conversation about Mark--Warrick still couldn't think of that guy's name without clenching his teeth--but Warrick was positive he didn't actually _remember_ anything. If he had, he would have undoubtedly said so. Instead, Nick had raised the stakes.

He'd started off throwing the memory in Warrick's face a bit, but memories or no memories, that wasn't really Nick's style and the Texan had quickly abandoned such tactics. But during the process, Warrick knew he had somehow tipped his hand, because Nick had spent the rest of the day flirting.

Oh, it had been clumsy, immature, college boy flirting, but it got to Warrick all the same.

Underneath had been an earnestness and sincerity that was pure Nick and ten times as appealing.

Warrick was amazed that Nick thought he had to put _any_ effort into making Warrick want him. Did Nick think it was easy to hold back the way he'd been doing? That he _needed_ any added temptation?

Then again, Nick never _had_ been aware of just how attractive he was--which only increased the man's charm.

There was one advantage Warrick had that Nick didn't, though--he _remembered_.

He remembered the sight of bites and cuts and bruises marring Nick's skin during those first few days of Nick's rescue. He remembered them at their worst, dark and ugly and obscene. The wounds had already begun to heal by the time Nick regained consciousness, but Warrick could still picture them in his mind's eyes--some had been just a few hours old.

Whenever Nick pushed him to the edge of temptation, he just had to think of that and he was able to put Nick's needs over his own wants.

He just wasn't sure how long it would work.

* * *

When Warrick visited Phillip Kane to discuss how best to help Nick, the psychiatrist had stressed that there could be no concrete prediction of Nick's behavior during his recovery. Dissociative amnesia along with PTSD meant Nick could swing wildly from one end of the recovery spectrum to the other. Personally, Warrick thought that was a very convenient way for any shrink to cover his ass. He already knew most of that, anyway, which was why he'd played those dozens of different scenarios in his mind.

Apparently, he'd left one scenario out.

Warrick never expected Nick to be as forward as he'd been over the last few days. Considering what Nick had been through--whether he remembered it yet or not--such obvious come-ons were surprising, to say the least. 

If he wanted to play amateur psychologist, Warrick would say that either Nick was testing boundaries to see how safe he was or he already felt safe and this was a means of proving it to himself. That was fine, if that was what Nick needed to do, but Warrick was having one hell of a time living through it.

Nick still hadn't come right out and asked about their relationship, instead, he seemed determined to make Warrick admit his attraction, relationship or no. Some of his actions were obviously calculated, but most of them seemed inadvertent on Nick's part.

The invasion of personal space, those looks from under long lashes, the swipes at his lips with that tongue--those were all second nature to Nick. 

Walking around in a towel was _not_. Warrick wasn't sure whether that was deliberate or just natural for Nick in his younger mindset.

Finding a double entendre in nearly everything Warrick said? _That_ was pure frat boy. Warrick _knew_ that, so he really should have been able to ignore it. It was juvenile, nothing like the Nick he'd always known and not something that would normally attract him, so it shouldn't have been a turn on. Maybe because it was Nick doing it. Maybe because it was so unlike Nick to do it.

Or maybe because Nick was being so obvious about his attraction.

That was something Warrick didn't like to think about too much, because it made him feel like a conceited jerk, but there was no denying he enjoyed the effort Nick was going to on his behalf. After years of thinking he never had a shot, it was very flattering to have such clear proof that Nick wanted him.

The sad irony of the situation was that he couldn't do anything about it. 

* * *

Nick couldn't tell if anything he was trying was getting him anywhere. There were times when Warrick would look at him in a way that made his pulse race, but it was rarely when Nick was actually trying. When he did make an attempt, Warrick usually looked at him with fond amusement, giving Nick the sneaking suspicion he was probably making a fool of himself. 

Three days was enough for Nick to decide that this really had to stop. While it went on, he constantly had Warrick on his mind. Even now, while he was on his morning run, something that was supposed to _clear_ his head, all he could think about was Warrick. Whether they were friends or something more, Warrick was too big a part of his life to have so many questions swirling around him.

Maybe once he knew for sure, he'd be able to move onto other parts of his recovery. He was fairly certain he knew what Warrick's feelings for him were, but even if he was wrong, it would be a relief to finally know one way or another.

So what was he supposed to do? Give Warrick an ultimatum? Nick didn't like that idea. Ask him outright? That was the very thing he'd been trying to avoid. Lie and say he remembered? Not a good idea and besides, Warrick would probably be able to tell.

As he reached the last corner before his house, Nick slowed to a walk. When he finally rounded the corner, he could see Warrick's truck in the driveway. Nick looked down at his watch, scowling in frustration. What a sorry excuse for a run that had been. Twice as long as his ideal time and not even close to a reasonable one--normally, he had time for a quick shower and a start on breakfast before Warrick got home from work.

Yeah, this had to stop.

Nick loped the rest of the way, determined to finally get this sorted out before he changed his mind again. 

Warrick was standing next to the dividing counter. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and was gripping the edge of the counter with the other. His posture relaxed visibly when Nick walked it. "Hey," he nodded.

"Hi," Nick replied and his stomach began doing somersaults.

"Good run?"

"Not really. Made lousy time."

Warrick set his cup down and straightened away from the counter. "Something wrong?"

Nick plucked his damp shirt away from his body. He didn't want to do this when he was all sweaty and on an adrenalin high--albeit not a very strong one--but he didn't really have a choice. "I need to talk to you."

"What about?"

"Warrick. You know _what about_."

The steps Warrick took toward him seemed almost involuntary. "What?"

He looked so hopeful that Nick was seriously tempted to lie. "There's something between us, Rick. I _know_ there is."

"Nicky." Warrick gripped his upper arms, leaning in until their lips were only inches apart. "What did you remember?"

 _Oh, God._ He hadn't quite expected _this_. Never expected the intense green gaze to make his knees turn to water. Never expected the need to lean forward and meet those full lips to overpower everything else. Nick had to close his eyes before answering, "I didn't...actually remember anything new."

Warrick let go of him and took a step back.

Nick had to swallow several times to get rid of the sudden lump in his throat. "But...but I know there's something going on. I don't know if it's only since what happened or from before, but I know it's there."

"You don't know," Warrick said, and looked away. "Not if you don't remember."

"Are you telling me you don't think of me anything except a friend?" _Oh, damn._ He hadn't meant to just blurt the question out like that, and his heart seemed to slow to a halt while he waited for Warrick's answer.

"This isn't something you need to be worrying about now."

Nick's heart resumed its slightly accelerated pace. Warrick hadn't answered his question, but more important, he hadn't denied anything. "I can't think about anything else," he said bluntly, since total honesty seemed to be working at the moment.

"Nick..." Warrick sighed. "Yeah, okay. Of course there's something there. We both know it." He put his hands on Nick's shoulders when Nick would have moved closer, "But even if you did remember...we can't--this isn't a good time to...we can't just pick up where we left off."

All Nick could do was stare at Warrick in mute bewilderment. This wasn't the way things were supposed to go if Warrick acknowledged they were together.

"There's so much stuff you still have to remember--"

"Warrick," Nick finally found his voice. "Trust me, the feelings are there even if the memories aren't."

"But things could change once you _do_ start to remember. It's better if we wait." Warrick took his hands away and moved further back.

"How long?" Nick had to clear his throat to get rid of the horrible choking feeling. He just wished Warrick would _look_ at him. "Dr. Volker and Dr. Werne have both said there's no way to predict how much I'm going to remember or how long it could take. Some things might never come back. What if this is as much as I ever remember? Now. Today. What if this is it? Then what?"

"It's still too soon to worry about something like that."

"What are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

"I don't know," Warrick's voice was barely more than a whisper. "But, Nick, we can't--look, I'll be there for you. You know I will. I _want_ to be there for you, but..." He swallowed hard, "But I don't think there should be anything more right now."

Nick nodded and found that now that Warrick was finally looking at him, he wanted to look anywhere else. "Okay," he said, trying to take it well--or at least give the appearance of taking it well--when in reality he felt sweaty, humiliated and stupid and wanted to be anywhere except where he was. "I...uh...I need a shower."

"Nicky..."

"Don't." Nick held up his hand and when he was certain Warrick wasn't going to move, he hurried to the bathroom. Quickly, he stripped and turned on the water as hot as he could stand it. He stepped in and stood with his back to the spray, dropping his head and letting the water pound against his neck and shoulders. 

He'd always figured on either a _yes_ or _no_ , and thought he could handle either. He didn't know what the hell to do with a _yes-_ ** _but_** _-no_.

How could Warrick just expect him to ignore this? How could Warrick just ignore it?

Bracing his hands against the steamed glass, Nick leaned forward a bit more so the spray would hit his lower back.

Maybe Warrick did see this as an out after all.

Maybe he'd decided that he didn't want a relationship with someone as messed up as Nick was.

Maybe he was just going to wait and see how much Nick recovered before making up his mind.

And really, who could blame him? Warrick never signed on to be with a head case. It wasn't like he was bailing out completely. He just didn't want to be trapped in a relationship.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath to loosen the tightness in his chest, but the steam rising all around him made it difficult. Suddenly, he desperately wanted a breath of cooler air. Without bothering to turn off the water, he shoved open the glass door.

It wouldn't move.

The tiniest flicker of fear barely registered--he was more frustrated that anything else. He slapped his palm hard against the door, but it wouldn't budge.

He was stuck it his own shower. Great.

"Goddamn, what next?" he ground out between clenched teeth. 

_Any way you like, you're going to die here._

* * *

The scream tore straight through to the marrow of Warrick's bones and brought him to the bathroom door in an instant. "Nick!" he yelled, fumbling with the doorknob. A second scream echoed through the house before there was a huge crash and the sound of glass shattering.

Warrick kicked madly at the door and after the second blow, it flew open, revealing Nick sprawled on the floor amidst shards of glass. Water poured through the missing panel right next to the shower door, but Warrick ignored that, just as he ignored the pieces of glass that cut through his jeans and into his skin as he dropped to his knees. It meant nothing next to the diluted blood on the floor and the streams trailing down Nick's arms.

"Nicky..." Warrick slid an arm under Nick's chest and tried to lift him off the floor, but Nick's entire body was rigid and all Warrick could do was turn him onto his back. The dark eyes were open and blank with terror. "Oh, Jesus..." He laid a hand on Nick's chest as it rose and fell rapidly. "Nick? Nicky!" He didn't know whether it was the right thing to do, but he couldn't leave Nick alone in the middle of what was obviously a horrible memory. "Nick!" he said as sharply as he could.

Finally, Nick made a sound, letting out a broken whimper that sent Warrick hurtling back to a hole in the ground on a chilling May night, even though he couldn't be certain that was what Nick was remembering.

His response was automatic, "I gotcha, Nicky."

Nick gave a choked gasp and slowly his eyes focused, although they were still wide with fear. "Warrick..."

"Yeah," Warrick slipped an arm under Nick's shoulders. "Come on."

"No!" Nick grasped Warrick's arms, still unaware of the blood coating his own. "No!"

"It's okay, Nicky. Let's get you up."

"There's a bomb under the box," Nick whispered.

It _was_ that. "No, Nicky," Warrick assured him. "There's no bomb. There's no box. We're in your house. You're on the floor of your bathroom."

Nick's brow creased, then he turned his head to take in his surroundings. "Oh. Oh, my God..." He shifted, then tried to sit up and Warrick immediately braced an arm behind his back. As Nick drew his knees up and tried to wrap his arms around them, he got his first look at his injuries and Warrick could tell when the pain finally registered by the ragged breath Nick tried to draw in. "Rick..?"

"It'll be okay, baby." Warrick managed to reach several towels from the bar without leaving Nick's side. He wrapped both of Nick's forearms and his right upper arm tightly; the left upper arm wasn't bleeding as badly. The blood began to seep through the layers quickly and Warrick knew he had to get Nick to the ER. Nick hadn't said a word throughout the proceedings, but had enough presence of mind to keep the towels in place. "Nicky, I think we'd better get out to the hospital."

"Not like this," Nick muttered.

Warrick blinked, then realized Nick was referring to his unclothed state. "Nah, I'll get you some pants. I'll just be gone for a sec, okay?"

Nick nodded, but Warrick hated to leave him even for the brief time it took to find a pair of track pants that would be easy to get on. When he returned to the bathroom, he paused long enough to finally turn off the water, before putting the pants on the counter and helping Nick to his feet. Nick was still hugging both arms to his chest, but Warrick was relieved to note that the towels didn't seem any more saturated. 

"C'mon, Nicky."

Since Nick couldn't move his arms, Warrick had to help him on with the pants. At any other time, he knew Nick would be dying of embarrassment, but now he merely stepped into them when prompted by Warrick.

"How long?"

Warrick was tying the pants' drawstring and stopped at the unexpected question. "How long what?"

"How long was I in that box?"

 _Oh._ "Over twenty-four hours," Warrick replied, deciding there was no point trying to sugar-coat anything. He put both arms around Nick, guiding him out of the bathroom and toward the front door. Other than looking shaken and being somewhat unsteady, Warrick thought Nick was doing amazingly well--he was moving under his own power, with Warrick only providing the balance. The state of Nick arms didn't seem to be bothering him excessively, so either the memories had thoroughly distracted him or the adrenalin had kicked in--or both.

He slid his feet into the pair of battered loafers Warrick found for him and allowed Warrick to drape a jacket over his bare shoulders. He leaned more heavily as they went out to the jeep, and remained silent as Warrick helped him inside.

Warrick kept up a steady stream of murmured reassurances the entire time. Only once he was behind the wheel did he give in to his emotions, peeling out of the driveway and laying rubber for nearly half the block.

* * *

Warrick wasn't sure why he'd expected Nick to be the same as he'd been on _that_ night, and quickly abandoned that notion for the reality of the situation. Nick was wobbly and dazed, but that could have been attributed to his injuries as easily as his memories. He was able to answer the doctor's question without any trouble.

Fortunately, it was Dr. Leever on duty in the ER. He'd known both of them from the job for years and was familiar with Nick's situation even if Nick was no longer familiar with him. He had the nurse bring them in immediately and didn't bat an eye at Nick's unusual explanation for his injuries. Leever even allowed Warrick to remain, albeit off to the side. Warrick ended up filling out Nick's paperwork for him, ready in case Nick started to get agitated.

Far from being agitated, Nick barely made a sound while his arm was stitched up--eleven stitches in his right arm and six in his left, plus a few dozen Steri-Strips--but when Dr. Leever mentioned giving him a sedative, he refused.

Leever recognized that stubborn set to Nick's jaw and instead prescribed a painkiller that would do the job. "You know the drill, right?" he said as the nurse wrapped gauze around Nick's arm. "See me or your regular doctor in two weeks, sooner if there's any problem," Leever addressed Nick, but looked at Warrick as he spoke.

Nick nodded, watching as the nurse fastened his bandages.

A second nurse came in with two cups and handed the smaller one to Nick. Seeing the contents, he frowned and looked at Dr. Leever.

"The freezing will wear off before long. You want to have something working when it does."

Carefully, Nick raised his arm and tipped the pills into his mouth, then took a sip of water from the straw the nurse had been thoughtful enough to provide. "Thanks," he smiled at her.

"Okay, I think we're all done," Leever announced.

"Thank you, doctor." Slowly, Nick got down from the table.

"You're welcome." Leever stepped toward Warrick to take the clipboard from him, "You're keeping an eye on him, right?" he asked quietly.

 _If you only knew..._ "Absolutely." In a normal voice, he said, "Ready to go, Nick?"

"Yeah."

Warrick fought the urge to put an arm around Nick, knowing the stubborn Texan would rather move under his own steam if at all possible. Instead, he matched his pace to Nick's slower one, ready in case he faltered. Nick made it out to the jeep, but by the time he was seated he looked wiped.

As badly as Warrick wanted to know about the scope of the memories, he wasn't sure whether it was a good time to ask. For all he knew, Nick was quiet because he was still in the process of remembering. 

"I want to stop on the way home and get your prescription filled."

"Sure," Nick said absently, obviously preoccupied.

Pulling into the parking lot of the next drug store, he looked over at Nick. "You gonna be okay?"

"Of course."

Taking the exasperation in Nick's voice as a good sign, Warrick went in and paced impatiently while the prescription was filled. When he returned to the jeep, Nick was sound asleep and stayed that way for the rest of the drive. Warrick hated to wake him, and tried to do so as gently as possible. "Hey," he said quietly, when he opened the passenger door. "Hey, Nicky." A small shake. "C'mon, wake up so you can go to bed."

Nick roused slowly, much to Warrick's relief--he didn't want Nick jerking awake as though from a nightmare. He blinked a few times, then gave Warrick a drowsy smile.

Warrick very nearly gave in to the temptation to kiss the corner of that smile, but settled for helping Nick out of the jeep and into the house. This time, Nick leaned completely on him, which Warrick didn't mind in the least.

"Hey, it's not Wednesday, is it?" Nick asked as they walked into the bedroom.

Not sure whether he should be worried or not, Warrick replied, "It's still Tuesday."

"Okay," Nick reached to turn back the covers, but Warrick beat him to it. "I see Dr. Werne on Wednesdays."

"Oh." He hadn't thought of that. "You want me to call her? She'd probably see you."

"Nah," Nick sank onto his mattress with a sigh. "I just don't want to miss an appointment--at least not without letting her know."

Warrick covered him up after Nick settled his arms gingerly and then was at a loss what to do next. Nick had his eyes closed but Warrick didn't want to leave until he was certain Nick was asleep--maybe not even then. He was still trying to make up his mind when Nick started talking.

"I don't know if I remember the whole thing...I think so, but there's a whole lot of nothing there, too." Oddly, now that he was lying down, Nick sounded more alert than he had since the flashback. 

Warrick suddenly realized a possible reason for it. "Hey, would you rather not be lying flat? I can rig up some pillows so you're sitting up a bit."

"What?" Nick gave him a confused look, then caught on. "Oh. No, that's okay. There's no way I'm gonna mistake this for--well," his voice was quiet, but clear. "I know I got a little mixed up before, but I was still kinda in the middle of it. I'm okay--I mean, I know what's going on now...more or less."

"Okay. Well, I can go and you can get some rest or I can hang out here for a while."

"Rick," Nick's expression softened. "Do you really have to ask?"

It really was a miracle he'd managed to hold out this long, Warrick thought ruefully. "I guess not," he said as he sat on the bed, careful not to jostle Nick's arms. "Are you done remembering now or..?" He still had no real idea how this part of it worked.

"Yeah, it stopped before we left for the hospital. I just had to sort everything out." Nick closed his eyes with another sigh. "It was weird trying to figure out if it was finished, because there's so much time where there's nothing to remember."

Warrick didn't really understand what Nick meant, but didn't want to press him when he was about to doze off.

Nick obviously wasn't ready to doze off, though. "I remember waking up and...not believing it at first because--I mean, how could it be possible, y'know? Then...well, then I lost it for a little while, there. I don't know if I thought I could actually bust loose or what." Nick didn't seem to need prompting or questions, which was just as well, because Warrick had no idea what to say. "I'd wonder...try and figure how long it would take you guys to find evidence... find me...tried to think as though I was working the case, but then that damn light started going on and off and I couldn't concentrate. God, I hated that thing."

Warrick winced, but Nick didn't notice.

"I was so glad to shoot that sucker out--I definitely remember that."

"So do I."

"What?"

After a quick internal debate, Warrick decided to tell Nick about the camera, since he'd had to be told the first time, as well. "It was our fault."

"What? Whose fault?"

"At the lab," Warrick explained. "It was the only way we could tell how you were doing. The light was hooked up to a camera."

"The light...was hooked up to the fan."

"That, too."

"Okay," Nick said after several minutes of silence. "Someone must have told me about that because now I...you guys could see me--watch me--when the light was on." He frowned in confusion, "Who watched me when it was dark?"

That was kind of a weird question, but Warrick figured Nick was allowed a whole bunch of those. "We could still see you by those chem lights you had."

Nick looked at him, still frowning, "I guess..." He shifted slightly, then shook his head. "Musn't have been much to see, anyway. Mostly I had nothing to do but wait...the waiting was just endless..."

When Nick closed his eyes this time, Warrick didn't automatically assume he was dozing off. The painkiller Leever prescribed made most of the people who took it fall asleep, and it just figured that Nick was one of the exceptions to the rule. It seemed to make him drowsy, but apparently it also made him talk. 

"The waiting was...well, first I was waiting for you guys to find me, so that wasn't so bad. I did things to keep my mind occupied so I'd still be all there when you did. And then...I had to keep waiting even when I began to realize that you might not--probably wouldn't...I still hoped, though. By the time the ants--" A shudder ran through him. "Once I took care of that as well as I could--so they couldn't bite so much, then there was nothing to but wait again, only by then I was waiting for..." He swallowed, "Then--then the fan stopped and...oh. Oh, God..."

"Nicky," was all Warrick could manage.

"How..? How could I ever forget the sound of your voice?" Nick opened his eyes. "I was just about to pull--but then I heard you..."

Beyond words, Warrick stopped trying to put off the inevitable and brushed the back of his fingers against Nick's cheek.

With a small noise, Nick turned slightly into the touch, then looked troubled. "I almost got you blown up."

"You didn't."

"Only because of Grissom." Nick looked at Warrick, his expressive eyes swimming with emotion. "You weren't gonna leave--even when they told you that you had to."

"Of course."

"Of course," Nick agreed with a tiny smile. He closed his eyes again when Warrick ran a thumb along his cheekbone and his expression tightened briefly as he raised one arm to twine his fingers with Warrick's. "You need to get some sleep, too."

"I'll go as soon as you drop off."

"Then at least lie down."

"Nick..."

"It's a big bed, Warrick."

Warrick tried to go over all the same old reasons he'd always had for maintaining a distance, but he suddenly couldn't think of them. The only thing that occurred to him was that the mess in the bathroom still had to be cleaned up.

 _Hell with it_. The mess would still be there later, he decided as he stretched out next to Nick.

* * *

Nick awoke to an empty bed and arms that throbbed in time with his pulse. He was sorry to find Warrick wasn't next to him, but not too upset. It was perfectly clear now that Warrick was not hoping to get out their relationship, that Warrick's actions had always sprung from concern. It had been stupid of him to ever think that Warrick's motives could ever be based on anything else. He actually owed Warrick some sort of apology for trying to push his buttons these past few days. 

As much as he wanted to dwell on Warrick, Nick found that his newly emerged memories could not be ignored, even though they hadn't sunk in completely. Nick wasn't sure he wanted them to, anyway. He remembered his horror, his fury, his despair, but still felt removed from it all somehow. That was something to discuss with Dr. Werne when he saw her.

Being careful not to put pressure on his arms, Nick rolled out of bed, thankful that he'd left the track pants on and saved himself that chore. As he headed for the bathroom, Warrick was just coming out and he immediately looked down at Nick's bare feet. 

"Be careful," he said. "I think I got it all, but you never know."

After a moment's confusion, Nick nodded, "Right. The shower door."

"Not the door," Warrick corrected. "The panel next to it."

"The door," Nick insisted. "The door was stuck."

Warrick stepped aside so Nick could see, "The door works fine."

"You gotta be kidding me," Nick muttered, feeling ten kinds of stupid. All the time he'd been thinking he was trapped, he was pushing on the wall instead of that damn door. That was one tidbit that didn't need sharing, Nick decided, stepping into the bathroom.

"Need any help?"

A sudden jolt of terror lanced through him. "No, I don't need any help!" he snapped, surprising both of them.

Warrick held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Nicky, I was just--"

"Sorry. I'm fine--really."

"Okay."

Nick closed the door behind him, feeling more stupid than ever. Obviously, he was still rattled by the flashback. Hopefully, Warrick understood. He finished and went to the living room, where Warrick held out his painkillers and a bottle of water. Nick took them without complaint. "Look, I'm sorry about--"

"Nick, don't worry about it. How're you feeling?"

"Weird," Nick offered, taking the water with him when he sat on the sofa. "I...um...it _still_ doesn't quite feel like it happened to me. It _does_ , because I can remember what parts of it felt like, but there's a--I don't know--cushion in between."

"You've talked about more about it today that you have since it happened," Warrick sat down next to him, not _too_ close, but closer than a buddy would sit.

"Really? I think I just find it difficult to believe that a person could do something like--Walter Gordon." Just like that, the name was there.

"Yeah," Warrick's voice was tight.

Nick searched briefly, but there was no other information lying around at the moment. He shook his head and took another sip of water.

"How about we get take-out for dinner?" Warrick suggested. Nick could tell he'd waited to make sure there were no further memories. "What do you feel like?"

"I'm not that hungry," Nick said. 

"Okay, we can wait awhile."

"You can't," Nick pointed out. "You should have something to eat before you go to work."

"Hell, Nicky, I'm not going in tonight. I'll call Grissom later."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Warrick gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me?"

Nick _definitely_ did not want this to become a habit. He'd left Dallas to escape babysitters, and the last thing he wanted was for Warrick to take on that role. "Warrick, I wasn't hurt _that_ bad. Having stitches doesn't make me an invalid. Yeah, it'll hurt like hell for a while, but I can still do everything I usually do."

"I know," Warrick assured him. "And it's not so much because of that, anyway."

"The memories?" Nick knew it would be more difficult to convince him on that score. "This was a fluke, Rick. Yeah, it was a bad one, but I'm not gonna get hurt with every flashback. Besides, I'll probably just sleep once those pills kick in again."

"I know," Warrick said again. He put a hand on Nick's shoulder, then moved it to cup the back of Nick's neck. "But I just want to be sure. Besides, it's all I'm going to be thinking about, so I'd be useless at work, anyway."

The heat from Warrick's hand tingled all the way down Nick's spine. He had to be crazy to be arguing about this. "Well, if it'll make you feel better," he conceded.

* * *

Warrick agreed to return to work the next night after Nick made it perfectly clear that he wasn't about to be babied. He stopped trying to help after Nick started doing more in an attempt to prove he could take care of himself. At one point, Nick got fed up with his hovering and threatened to go to the gym to do as many biceps curls as he could--stitches or no stitches.

Oddly, although Nick claimed to be well enough to do nearly anything, that didn't include working on his laptop--or writing. This meant that he couldn't document his memories as Dr. Werne had asked him to do. This was nothing new, Nick made no secret of the fact that he hated writing out his memories. He still followed doctor's order and did it, but usually pouted the entire time. Warrick finally found out why when he offered to type the memories up as Nick dictated them, which did not go over well.

"No way. The only thing worse than me keeping a diary is having someone do it for me."

"It's not a diary," Warrick countered.

"'I'd like you to keep a journal of your memories,'" Nick quoted Dr. Werne. "Seems like a diary to me."

He sounded so sulky that Warrick had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Nick was as prone to posturing as any guy, but this was extreme. This was college boy bravado. 

This was cute as hell.

But just in case there were other, less amusing reasons for Nick's aversion, Warrick didn't tease or press the issue. Instead, he spent the time making sure the aftermath of the memory was as easy as possible on Nick. 

There was no point in trying to backpedal and deny his feelings now, but Warrick didn't want things to go too much further without more awareness on Nick's part. Fortunately, Nick seemed content with Warrick's acknowledgment of their relationship and an increase of physical contact. Another irony in this situation--the physical contact wasn't that much more than Warrick would have offered as a friend had he not been keeping such a tight rein on his own feelings.

Warrick could tell when Nick's memory of the box began to solidify, because Nick became less willing to talk about it. Before that point, though, Nick rounded out more and more of the memory, making the connection between Kelly Gordon and the suicide he'd remembered long before.

By the time he'd finished his session with Dr. Werne, Nick wanted to talk about anything _except_ the memory. It was eerily similar to his behavior following his burial, even if it wasn't _quite_ as severe. Warrick tried not to worry too much about that, knowing it was a lot for Nick to adjust to.

Still reluctant to go to work, Warrick finally agreed after Nick promised to call if he needed anything. He even left a bit early, knowing he had to discuss this new situation. 

When he got to Grissom's door, he could hear Catherine as well and was momentarily disconcerted. Warrick realized that as his co-supervisors, they would both have to be there when he made his request. It wasn't a problem, just a little intimidating--he'd only ever dealt with one or the other on such a level before. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door, then poked his head in when the voices fell silent. "Can I talk to you guys?"

"Have a seat," Grissom nodded.

Warrick took the chair next to Catherine. "I wanted to talk about...my hours, I guess."

"Join the club," Catherine muttered.

Something about her tone put Warrick on the alert. "What?"

Grissom frowned at Catherine briefly before explaining. "I was going to tell everyone during assignments. There are two new CSIs transferring to Vegas--one from Phoenix and the other from Chicago."

"For six months," Catherine added quickly, although there was an edge to her voice.

"Two new CSIs," Warrick repeated.

"Hal Westbrook is taking an early retirement, so they'll need someone on days."

"You said two."

"They'll choose the best candidate, of course."

Something about that didn't sit well with Warrick, but he had bigger concerns to deal with. "Okay, then it shouldn't be too tough for me to cut back on my hours a bit."

Grissom raised his eyebrows in question.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you guys about. Not that I want time off--not right now, anyway--but I don't want any more overtime, if that's possible."

"Nick?" Catherine asked, then continued when Warrick nodded. "I wanted to phone him today and check on him. I thought that might be why you called in last night."

"He remembered the box."

That was all he had to say. Catherine paled and even Grissom flinched slightly. 

"He hurt himself during the flashback, too, so..."

"Hurt himself...how?" Grissom sounded wary.

Warrick hadn't wanted discuss all the circumstances, knowing Nick would be embarrassed, but he saw their alarmed looks and didn't want them thinking Nick's injuries had been purposely self-inflicted. "He was in the shower when it happened--broke through the glass trying to get out."

Winces from both of them. "How badly was he hurt?" Grissom asked.

"Stitches in both arms, but it could have been worse."

"And how is he?" Catherine asked. "In regard to the actual memory."

"It's an old line, but he's doing as well as you'd expect. I think it took most of the day for it to sink in that it really happened."

"Is he okay alone?"

"I hope so," Warrick sighed. He'd been warring with that exact question for hours. "If I'd stayed tonight, he probably would have kicked my ass--well, tried to," he added, because old habits died hard. Catherine rolled her eyes. "But that boy does not want anything that even looks like coddling."

A smile ghosted across Grissom face and Catherine flashed a grin. It faded slowly, and she sighed. "I guess that's the first hurdle, then."

Warrick nodded and didn't even realize Grissom had murmured something, until Catherine called him on it.

"Did you just say what I think you said?"

Grissom looked vaguely guilty. "Yes, I said it's a shame," he sighed, picking up a pen and toying with it as he spoke. "There was a sort of poetic justice to it. Nick has had to endure so much already that on some level it's appropriate that he hasn't had to endure the fallout as well."

Catherine was never too big on Grissom waxing philosophical, especially when it related directly to someone she cared about. "He's lost nearly fifteen years of memories."

Warrick could understand where Grissom was coming from, but like Catherine, he'd rather have Nick with his memory intact--most of the time. "Too bad no one can decide what needs to be remembered."

The sympathetic look Catherine gave him made Warrick a bit uncomfortable. She'd never actually asked or said anything, but Warrick knew she had a pretty good idea about he and Nick.

"I take it you want to be around when Nick regains more of his memories," Grissom said, getting back to the subject at hand.

"I want to try to be, yeah. Nick seems to think that the severity of this one was by chance, but just in case..."

"Well, after all the overtime you put in when the lab was short handed, I don't think anyone will have a problem with you cutting back now." Catherine looked at Grissom for confirmation.

The entomologist nodded, "I'll tell Ecklie where things stand."

Catherine frowned, "Don't let it sound like you're _telling_ him."

Grissom arched an eyebrow in her direction and Warrick decided this was a good time to excuse himself.

* * *

It was a relief, Greg reflected, to no longer be on edge just because he'd been assigned to a case with Warrick Brown. Although now that he knew--well, was pretty sure he knew--the reason for Warrick's behavior, he doubted the knowing would have helped much when it was happening.

Having snagged the keys to "Warrick's" Denali, Greg met up with him on the way out to the parking lot. "I'll drive," he said, tossing the keys up and fully expecting Warrick to snatch them out of midair.

"Fine," Warrick said absently and kept walking, his eyes on his cell phone display.

The keys dropped to the ground, along with Greg's jaw. Recovering, he scooped them up and hurried to the vehicle. As he got into the driver's seat, Warrick was dialing again, only to disconnect with a mutter.

Greg chalked it up to Nick's flashback. Warrick had told he and Sara about it before assignments were handed out, probably because they had plans to all go out for dinner the next day and he didn't want either of them saying the wrong thing or making dinner last too long. Greg wondered when Nick would be ready to go out for longer than a few hours at a time--he suspected it wouldn't be until Nick had recovered the worst of his memories and didn't have to worry about an unexpected flashback.

Warrick was dialing again, so Greg kept his eyes on the road.

"Hey. Yeah, it's me....Yeah? What the hell time is it in Texas, anyway?...Oh. Did you tell her about--yeah. Yeah, they probably would...Nah, me and Greg are out to a double in Henderson, so--yeah, I talked to them about it....I know....I know, I know, but I wanted to, okay? I'd been working a helluva lot of extra hours, so now is a good time to cut back. Don't worry about it, okay?"

It took a huge effort for Greg not to turn and stare. He wondered if Warrick had any idea how much his voice and tone changed when he spoke to Nick--Greg was positive it was Nick on the other end. Although Greg had often heard Warrick talk to his wife and various girlfriends, but right now that low voice--almost a purr--was infused with so much warm affection that it changed into something else entirely.

"I don't know how long I'll be at the scene but they said no overtime, so--I know there's no way of predicting how long it'll take to process, but I'd rather not be gone too long right now, okay?...I know. I know...I'm not--no, I know you can handle it."

Greg bit his lip to stifle the mirth bubbling up inside him. If he didn't know better, he'd say Warrick was being...scolded. He was definitely trying to placate someone on the end of that line--and who was on the end of that line?

"I'm not sayin'....Jesus, Nicky, can you blame me?"

_Yep. How had they ever managed to miss it?_

"Okay. Well, I'll leave my pager on, so...yeah. Just stay out of shower until I get back."

That was too much. Greg let out a startled squawk of laughter, and once he'd started he couldn't stop.

"Greg!" Warrick snapped at him. "What the hell? Pull over before you kill us!"

Greg was already slowing down, trying to find a suitable place to stop.

"Nick?" Warrick put the phone back to his ear. "Nah, we're okay. Sanders just lost his damn mind is all. I'll talk to you later."

Now that the vehicle was safely stopped, Greg leaned on the steering wheel and howled.

Warrick was mystified. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Somehow, the fact that Warrick didn't realize what he'd said only made it that much funnier.

It didn't matter that Warrick was getting pissed off. It didn't even matter that the reason for Warrick's words was a very serious one. It just felt so good to laugh again, like he was making up for over two months of not even wanting to smile. 

Only a lack of air finally made Greg stop. His side ached and tears were streaming from his eyes, but he felt better than he had for weeks. He offered no objection when Warrick insisted they switch places and even started chuckling again once he was settled in the passenger seat.

No matter how irritated Warrick was now, it was worth it.

* * *

Even though Warrick had cut back on his overtime, the cases he'd racked up during those extra hours still had to be dealt with. Most of them had led to charges and trials, so Warrick had to meet with the DA and prosecutors several times a week. 

Nick was grateful for those few extra hours during the day, because they made it impossible for Warrick to get into the habit of constantly hovering. Not that Nick minded having Warrick nearby, but he was doing everything he could to keep Warrick from becoming a caretaker.

After that first day, Warrick returned to his own room, making Nick's big bed seem all the bigger. Nick had no doubt that if he implied he had a problem being alone, Warrick would stay as long as he wanted. But again, it would be for all the wrong reasons. 

With the exception of those first few hours back from the hospital, things weren't that much different between them. There was a bit more touching, they sat or stood closer, but that was all. No fooling around, no making out, not even so much as a kiss.

It was more frustrating than ever, and the sense of urgency Nick felt, while almost physically tangible, had nothing to with his libido. In the five days since his flashback in the shower, memories had emerged steadily, and most of them could not be considered "mundane" by any stretch of the imagination. Kelly Gordon was now a very real person for him, even though he would never be able to decide how much of an innocent victim she was. Walter Gordon was--and would always remain--a faceless menace, and initially, little more than a shadow. Sylvia Mullins was a casefile to him, because even though he'd worked with Catherine on it, his mind insisted on associating it with Gil Grissom.

Nick remembered feeling hurt, even betrayed and at first he thought it was because Grissom had questioned his objectivity around Kelly Gordon. That hadn't made much sense, because such questions were perfectly reasonable in such a situation. It was only a few days later, when he was reflecting on what had triggered his burial flashback, that Walter Gordon solidified beyond shadow form.

_Hi, CSI guy._

The memory of that recording hadn't emerged fully before, but Nick knew he would never be able to forget it again. He had two memories of listening to it, and the second--along with Grissom's hiding of it--emerged just a few hours before he was due to meet the entomologist for coffee. 

Grissom made the effort to visit with Nick at least once a week, occasionally twice. Nick often felt they were made out of a sense of duty rather than any real regard, and this new memory of his supervisor did nothing to dispel the feeling. Torn between his hurt and betrayal, with some anger as well, Nick called Grissom to cancel, but ended up only postponing it until the next day because he was unable to come up with a valid reason not to. He actually didn't have much of a reason for cancelling the initial visit, either, but Grissom hadn't asked for one. Instead, Grissom was very kind and his concern was obvious when he asked if there was anything he could do.

Assuring Grissom once again that he was fine, Nick hung up, half-expecting to return to the memory of the box when Grissom had to talk him out of his panic. About a half-hour later, Nick _did_ flash back to Grissom's calm voice talking someone down, but it wasn't him--it was a woman who held a gun in her shaking hands.

The gun-- _that_ had been pointed at him.

_There was blood ... everywhere. No one else could see it ... but I knew it was there._

Nick had tried to talk her down, but had failed miserably.

_Mrs. Hendler, I'm a good listener. You got to give me the gun._

She was ready to pull the trigger.

_I'm sorry. But you arrested my husband._

She _would_ have pulled the trigger, if not for Grissom.

_I don't want to fire my gun any more than you do._ _..Let's put down the guns._

Gil Grissom had saved his life--twice. What the hell had he been thinking to cop an attitude over the man's judgement about a cassette tape?

Conversation over coffee the next day was difficult as Nick struggled with gratitude and embarrassment instead of anger and betrayal. Whether it sprang from his memories, or whether it had always been there, Nick felt a deep need to meet certain expectations in Grissom's eyes. Thus far, no memories had emerged of meeting those expectations, and until one did, Nick didn't feel right questioning Grissom about his actions.

After all the ramifications of those memories, the ones that emerged while he and Greg were hanging out--although equally significant--were much easier to take. 

Spending time with Greg, now that all his friends knew about that first flashback, was definitely a relief. Greg seemed to be the only one not treading extra-carefully around him and instead was usually in high spirits and constantly amused. Nick found it a bit odd and occasionally unnerving, but a nice change from being treated as something breakable.

On this particular day, Greg was rambling on about the boyfriend of an old girlfriend and made a comment about "mostly convenient amnesia." The remark probably wouldn't have registered at all if Greg hadn't picked up on it himself and apologized profusely.

Nick was about to assure him it was okay when his mind suddenly traveled back to similar words of assurance at the scene of a crime--no, not a crime, a crash. A bus crash. They were there trying to find out if it was a crime.

"Nick?" Greg's voice was tentative.

"Your first crime scene. A bus crash."

"Oh, man," Greg shook his head with a groan. "I messed up big time on that one."

_Initial call was a robbery. I get there, triple homicide. Blood all over the place, mother and two kids._

He'd known there would be a mess--it was a robbery, after all. Nick had expected to deal with broken windows and doors, belongings strewn everywhere, a completely ransacked house. Instead, it had been a mess that went beyond horrific.

Ever since he'd become a CSI-I, he'd been preparing so he wouldn't make a fool of himself when he was finally called to a homicide, but this wasn't supposed to be a homicide. God help him, it certainly wasn't supposed to be a _triple_ homicide. 

But strangely, his state of shock had served him well. It had prevented him from being overcome by nausea the way the rookie--and a few veteran--cops were. Even more than the shock and horror, Nick had found himself overwhelmed by sadness. Sadness for the husband and father, the parents and grandparents, friends, co-workers, and especially for the children's schoolmates. When they heard about the murder of their playmates, and he knew they would--kids always did--a huge part of their innocence would be forever gone.

Nick had known then that it was as much for them as it was for the dead that he had to find whoever was responsible. Even more, he had known that it was what he had to do--what he was meant to do.

He told Greg as much, along with a somewhat disjointed explanation of the memory. Greg, who had never been around him during a "major" memory, handled it well, mostly listening, but occasionally asking a question that forced Nick to clarify things. He also stayed with Nick until Warrick returned, even though Nick knew he'd had other plans. 

Triple homicides, being threatened at gunpoint, being lied to by co-workers--all these things were enough to deal with, but there was the added fact that these memories meant it probably wouldn't be long before the events that led to his amnesia began to emerge as well. Nick felt the need to move much further along with Warrick before that happened. He had a deep fear that once he _did_ remember, his bond with Warrick on that level--which seemed tenuous right now--would disintegrate and from that point their entire relationship--maybe even their friendship--would unravel.

* * *

Warrick wanted to do something special on his first night off since Nick's burial flashback. So although the band playing wasn't Dixieland this time, Warrick took Nick to Pearl's. Ruthlessly, he stomped on that little voice in the back of his mind that said he was doing it in the hopes that it might prompt a similar memory. It was the same way he conveniently pushed aside the hurt he felt that Nick still hadn't remembered them. 

He told himself over and over that it wasn't about _him_ and it was only five days out of fourteen years, but it didn't help much. Even though Nick's feelings _now_ were perfectly obvious, anything but the most innocent interaction felt like taking advantage of a vulnerable man--one who was doing everything in his power not to let his vulnerability show.

Besides, it wasn't like Nick didn't remember him _at all_. Nearly every day Nick would talk about cases they'd worked, things they'd done or places they'd gone. He remembered their catch phrases and inside jokes, their arguments and competitiveness. He remembered nearly every aspect of their friendship, but still showed no sign of recalling anything more.

Nick was surprised but very pleased with the invitation and even seemed a bit nervous. As they drove to the club, he asked Warrick several times if what he was dressed okay. From anyone else, Warrick would have assumed it was fishing for compliments, but Nick looked genuinely concerned until Warrick assured him he looked great.

In truth, Nick looked so damn hot in his simple white shirt and chinos that Warrick had a hell of a time concentrating on the music. The Latin Jazz band could have been playing Turkish pop for all the attention either of them paid to it. Warrick couldn't tear his gaze from Nick who was bright-eyed, flushed with pleasure. Nick so obviously happy to be there with him that it was as intoxicating as any drink Warrick could have ordered or any card he could have bet on. He suggested they call it a night after a couple of hours--any longer and his already shaky resolve was going to start crumbling. 

The drive home was mostly silent. As he walked into the house, Warrick debated whether or not the night had been a failure, but then felt an arm slide around his back and promptly forgot all about such trivial matters.

"I had a good time tonight, Rick," Nick said softly.

"Yeah?" Warrick intended to gently disengage Nick's hands, but somehow his arms slipped around Nick's waist instead. "Name me one song they played."

The grin on Nick's face was a blatant admission he couldn't. Then he leaned closer, and Warrick shifted back, although he couldn't bring himself to release the man in his arms. 

It was enough to wipe the smile from Nick's face. "Why did you suggest going out?"

"You think I did it because I figured we'd hop in the sack afterward?" Warrick frowned.

"More like hoped," Nick muttered, looking away.

Christ, what the hell did Nick think he was made of? Barely even realizing he was doing it, Warrick ran his hands soothingly along Nick's ribs and back. "I just thought going out would be...hell, I don't know what I thought." He lowered his head until their foreheads were pressed together. "Don't think for a minute that this is easy for me," he whispered, trying not to notice the way Nick's breathing sped up. "Do you have any idea how damn near impossible it is for me to--"

The rest of his words were lost when Nick drew his head down for a kiss. It was surprisingly brief. Nick pulled back to look at him questioningly.

There was no way such a quick taste could ever be enough. Before he could think the better of it, Warrick captured Nick's lips in hungrily and could practically feel Nick throw everything he had into the kiss. Then coherent thought fled as Nick explored the interior of his mouth, moaning when Warrick returned the favor.

Warrick had to literally tear himself away, breaking the kiss off roughly.

Nick didn't seem to mind in the least. "Wow," he breathed, burying his face in Warrick's neck and making Warrick grin in spite of himself. After a few seconds, though, he let out a disappointed-sounding sigh that Warrick felt as well as heard.

"What's the matter?"

"I thought maybe once we--I just thought something might come back..."

"This was supposed to be some sort of _magic_ kiss?" Warrick drew back to stare at Nick. 

Nick's lips, slightly swollen, twitched. "Pretty close, huh?"

Laughing, Warrick bent his head so he could press his face against the curve where Nick's neck met his shoulder and inhaled deeply. It felt so damn _good_. Then Nick relaxed more fully against him and it felt even better. "Oh god, Nicky..." He had no idea anymore _why_ he had to go so slow with Nick, but part of his brain was still functioning enough to remind him that it was something he'd already decided. With a great deal of will power and even more regret, Warrick moved back--not completely away, but enough so he could think a little more clearly. "Okay...maybe..."

Nick seemed to know what was coming next. His expression stopped just shy of a pout and Warrick battled with the impulse to kiss it away.

"Look, why don't I go out and grab us something for a late supper. What--" _\--are you in the mood for?_ Warrick managed to censor that question before it came out. He was pretty sure Nick's answer would have nothing to do with food. _What do you want?_ Nope. That wasn't any better. "What do you say I go to Amigo's and get us some chili?"

Nick nodded, his eyes fastened firmly on Warrick's collar.

"We can just chill and watch a movie. Or maybe see if you can find a game on the tube, okay?"

"Okay," Nick's smile was a bit forced, but at least it was there.

"Okay," Warrick agreed. He slipped his jacket back on and surprised both of them by giving Nick another quick kiss. Something he definitely hadn't meant to do. "I'll be back in a few," he said, trying not to notice that Nick's smile was now genuine.

Finally escaping to his jeep, Warrick headed for Amigo's. Hopefully once he got a little breathing room, he'd be able to remember all the reasons he'd had for not giving in to his every instinct.

* * *

The next day, Nick decided it was about time he told Dr. Werne that Warrick was more than a mere friend and roommate. Rather than being surprised, she simply flipped back a few pages in her notes where she already had some questions prepared. After that, the session became one of the most uncomfortable Nick had ever sat through.

When she tried to ascertain whether Warrick was pressuring his recovery, Nick was able to answer honestly that Warrick had done everything possible to be supportive. In addition to wondering whether Werne had picked up on his need to move things _other_ than his recovery along more quickly, Nick admitted--reluctantly, and only to himself--that in some ways _he_ was pressuring Warrick unduly. 

Dr. Werne could sense there was more than Nick was saying, and continued to press in that gentle but insistent manner she had. Nick did his best to duck the questions, not wanting to tell her about behavior his now felt ashamed of. Not that he was _seriously_ pushing Warrick, but he knew Warrick had reasons for going slow--even if he wasn't sure what they were--yet he continued to provoke whenever possible. All just to prove--what? That Warrick cared? He already _knew_ that. Would going any farther physically at this point _really_ strengthen what was already there? 

This was definitely something he didn't want to mention to Dr. Werne, since he was fairly certain she would be in complete agreement with Warrick.

As he drove home, Nick couldn't help reflecting that in some ways he might very well be sabotaging his recovery himself. He knew he should be discussing all these other things with Dr. Werne, but rarely strayed too far from the subject of his actual memories if he could help it. He resolved to be more forthcoming with her from now on, even though he'd already told her more things about himself than he'd ever expected. He also resolved to grant Warrick the courtesy of respecting his boundaries--or at least to _try_.

It definitely wasn't going to be easy. Nick realized that the moment he walked through the door and had to fight not to make a beeline for the sofa where Warrick was reading through several case files.

"How'd it go?" Warrick looked up from his open folder.

"It went," Nick shrugged out of his jacket. "I guess they can't all be enlightening." _Or at least not enlightening the way you want them to be._ He went to the kitchen to grab a drink and when he emerged, Warrick was fiddling with the security pad. Nick sighed--he never thought to do it, but obviously it was important to Warrick. "Getting caught up?" he asked when Warrick was settled on the sofa again.

"Just trying to stay on top of things."

One thing Nick was determined _not_ to do was to interfere with Warrick's work, so he walked over to his desk, picked up a sheaf of papers at random and began going through them as though he had something to do. He didn't know if it would fool Warrick, but after a minute his pretend search became the real thing when it occurred to him that the bill for the repaired shower still had to be paid. He wouldn't put it past Warrick to pay it himself in order to save him any trouble. Nick knew he had put the bill on the desk, but might have been shuffled under some other papers--his corner desk was the one area of disorder in his normally neat home.

He took another set of papers and began flipping through them. "Hey, Warrick, do you know where the--"

When his eyes fell on the crayon drawing, Nick's first thought was that it was from a niece or nephew--Michaela, maybe? But the words "Thanks for finding me" suggested otherwise. He opened the card and reading the words inside. "From: Cassie To: Good Guys About: Bad Guys" brought a smile to his face even though the name Cassie didn't bring anyone immediately to mind.

 _Where's my family?_ In that same childish scrawl.

Nick's smile faded and he turned the card over, half expecting to see the words there.

Nothing.

_I'm ten years old Don't baby me!!!_

Her eyes. Such big, beautiful eyes that shouldn't have contained such horrible sadness.

Gradually he became aware of a warm hand resting lightly on his back. "She was the bravest little thing," he said, and Warrick's hand began to move in small circles. "Even after I told her about her family, even though her throat must have hurt so bad, she still went over the whole thing when I asked her."

"Cassie McBride," Warrick murmured in acknowledgment.

"When I found her on the shore, she was...god, she was so pale that for a minute I thought we were too late after all."

"Not 'we,'" Warrick corrected. "It was all you, Nicky. You saved her life."

"I couldn't give up on her," Nick managed, his throat suddenly tight. "All I could think was what if you guys had given up on me? If there was even the slightest chance, I had to keep trying."

"I know."

Nick could feel his warm breath and tilted his head slightly in that direction, relieved when he felt Warrick's cheek against his hair. "I hate cases with kids," he sighed.

"I know," Warrick said again.

Realizing that was a dumb thing to say, Nick tried to clarify, "I mean, I know everyone does, but--" He stopped when he felt lips press against his temple and allowed his thoughts to drift back to the McBride case. What a shame the rest of his memories couldn't be recovered in this manner.

"What made you remember Cassie?" Warrick asked after several minutes of silence.

"Seeing the card."

"You mean you weren't here looking for the card?"

"No, I was looking for the repair bill for the shower."

"Oh," Warrick slid his hand down to Nick's waist. "I wrote a check for that already."

Nick couldn't help laughing and leaned against Warrick slightly.

"What's so funny?"

"I was worried you'd do that. I wanted to get to the bill so you wouldn't have to."

"Ah, it's no problem," Warrick assured him. "These past few weeks I've really racked up the overtime."

"And I'm getting a paycheck even though I'm not working," Nick countered, then snorted. "Get my money for nothing."

"Hey, Nicky," Warrick sounded amused. "If you're aiming for hip and cool, don't quote songs from 1985."

"So am I usually?" Nick turned to look at him.

"What?"

"Hip and cool."

"Nope," Warrick grinned.

Nick laughed again and moved closer for a kiss, almost involuntarily. Warrick shifted and pressed his lips to Nick's forehead instead, making Nick smile in spite of himself.

"I've got to finish going over those case files," Warrick finally said.

"Okay," Nick started to pull away, but Warrick's arm tightened.

"C'mon and sit with me, okay? I don't..." Warrick hesitated and actually sounded embarrassed. "I'd rather have you nearby right now. Just sit and chill for a little bit." 

When he put it like that, Nick would have happily agreed to anything. That it just happened to be the very thing he wanted as well was icing on the cake. For the next hour, Nick sifted through his memories of the McBride case while leaning comfortably against Warrick. His only worry was keeping Warrick away from his case, but Warrick seemed to be able to concentrate just fine with one arm around him. Either that, or the guy had taken his poker face to a whole new level.

Eventually, Nick decided to do something about supper before Warrick suggested take-out yet again. "Food" was all he said when Warrick protested his leaving, then got up to check the fridge. There were some nice cuts of tenderloin he'd bought a few days before and he wondered briefly how they'd be barbecued, before laughing and beginning a search of his cupboards. The sole contribution Brett had made to his culinary education was to advise always having Shake-n-Bake on hand _._ "Coat that stuff on anything and it'll become edible--lasts forever, too." 

_Shake. And. Bake._

Nick froze.

_Positional asphyxia...Heat damage.....I'd say this kid was in a small, hot space for quite a while. Closet with a radiator, boiler room..._

He was with Dr. Robbins, looking down at a young boy. Y-incision on his chest, bluish hue to his skin, and his hair...a head full of thick, unruly waves that must have driven the kid's--Chase, Chase Ryan--Chase's mother up the wall.

Locked in a dryer at the laundromat by his best friend--just a couple of kids looking for something new and fun.

What a pointless waste.

_Just another day in paradise._

He put the box back in the cupboard and searched the fridge for barbecue sauce instead.

Nick talked about Chase as they ate supper, but didn't mention his growing dread that he was going to be remembering cases centered around children for the rest of the night. If Warrick knew that, he'd likely stay home, and Nick didn't want him to miss work over memories that, although bad, were probably not going to be especially traumatic. 

Already he was remembering another youth--with blond hair instead of brown--in the morgue. He'd been discussing the case with David Phillips, not Dr. Robbins. Throughout the evening, the idea nagged at him that this youth somehow fell in between Cassie McBride and Chase Ryan in his frame of reference. He would have asked Warrick if it was chronological, but there was no way to know that until he had a name. He didn't think it was something as simple as that, anyway.

It remained at the back of his mind, an annoyance, and only came to him about a half-hour after Warrick left for work. 

_I am Alexei._

He flopped down on the sofa with a sigh. That didn't tell him why Alexei fit between Cassie and Cha--

He'd only seen Chase dead.

He'd only seen Cassie alive.

He'd seen Alexei...alive _and_ dead.

Dead in the morgue, but alive...alive where?

A jolt went through him, leaving him nauseous. This was definitely going to be a bad one. Instead of feeling his way along the memory as he'd been doing, Nick picked up a copy of Sports Illustrated and started reading. If the memory was going to come, it was going to come, but in the meantime, he needed a break.

He was just about to toss the magazine aside--he couldn't concentrate enough to read--when he remembered.

The Dead Mountains.

He'd met Alexei in the desert, out by the Dead Mountains. It was the middle of nowhere, and there was no reason for a teenager to be wandering around, so what had Alexei been doing out there? For that matter, what the hell had _he_ been doing out there? Nick frowned, realizing he'd been in the area more than once.

_You're trespassing._

Trespassing? On someone's land? But whose land?

Terror slithered through the marrow of his bones.

Nick knew he wasn't going to be following that memory. Every instinct he had screamed not to go there. Not that name. Not now.

Once his heart had slowed back down to its regular pace, Nick tried to figure out what was so terrible. Three guys had roughed him up pretty good out there, but that wasn't what had prompted the sickening fear. 

There were no other memories nudging him at the moment, much to Nick's relief. He had enough to sort through already. Meeting Alexei and getting the crap beat out of him had been two separate occasions, both of them would need some clarifying.

But not right now. Right now Nick didn't even want to employ the brainpower it would to look through the magazine again. Instead, he grabbed the remote and turned his television on. He flipped through a few dozen channels before giving up. Not a thing to watch on how many channels?

_A hundred and fifty._

Nick turned the television off.

He turned on his laptop, and with half-hearted attempts at Sudoku, chess and several other games, managed to distract him for nearly two hours. It was in the midst of a puzzle game that two memories suddenly snapped together for Nick. 

The bruised ribs he'd remembered in Dallas. That had been a result of the beating in the desert. Setting the computer aside, Nick leaned back and closed his eyes. Warrick had wanted him to go to the hospital, but Nick had convinced him they probably weren't cracked.

Wait. He _had_ cracked them.

And sprained his wrist, too.

But...he hadn't sprained his wrist in the desert. He'd sprained his wrist when--

Nick's eyes flew open and he stared at the ceiling as fear gripped him again. Dammit, he _hated_ this. What the hell was he afraid of? He had a state-of-the-art security system--

\--that he hadn't turned back on after Warrick left.

Jumping up, he hurried to the keypad and punched the code, hating that his hand shook a little. He felt compelled to keep checking the ceiling, but didn't know why. He couldn't bring himself to sit down again, preferring to pace.

The night seemed endless. 

He had a pressing need to keep moving from one room to the next. If he felt like sitting, a quick glance at the ceiling convinced him that was a bad idea. He checked the security system nearly every twenty minutes and felt like an idiot each time. One thing he managed _not_ to do was call Warrick. He was not going to be responsible for Warrick ditching the job mid-shift, and he knew that was exactly what would happen if Warrick suspected something was up.

Seven o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

But just before seven, Warrick called to say he was stuck at a scene in Boulder City and would probably be working a double. He was definitely not happy about it, so Nick assured him that there was no problem. It didn't seem like Warrick believed him, but they both knew there was nothing to be done.

After he hung up, Nick found that he actually felt a little steadier. There hadn't been any more memories for over an hour, so they were probably finished for the time being. Since Warrick wouldn't be home for a while and he was exhausted after his long night, sleep seemed like his best option.

* * *

When he got called to a scene in Boulder City, Warrick knew he was looking at overtime and when he got to the scene and saw the mess, he realized he was probably pulling a double. To say he was pissed off would have been an extreme understatement.

That was probably the reason Catherine had gone out with him herself instead of putting someone else in the line of fire. Warrick was less likely to take his frustration out on her. It had always been that way and she knew it.

It wasn't so much that she was his superior--he certainly never had a problem squaring off with Ecklie; nor was it the fact that she was a woman--he'd tangled with Sara more than anyone else on graveyard. No, it was simply that she was Catherine. She was his boss, his friend, and there had been times when they both thought she might be more. They'd supported each other, flirted with each other, nagged, teased and tiptoed around each other, but rarely had they actually fought. Besides, he had seen Catherine pissed off often enough to know it was something he wanted to avoid if possible.

Catherine obviously knew what was up and didn't bat an eye when he stepped away from the scene around seven to make a personal call. She even asked "How's Nick?" when he returned.

"Fine," Warrick replied, even though Nick hadn't sounded fine. Sure Nick had _said_ there was no problem, but Warrick could hear the strain in his voice and suspected the memories were worse than he'd expected. That still didn't change the fact that he was stuck out here, so there was really no point in mentioning it.

But he wasn't fooling Catherine any more than Nick had fooled him.

"I called Greg. He should be here in a couple of hours and you can take off."

Guilt and gratitude warred within him. "Look, Cath--"

"Don't worry about it. I wouldn't have roped you in if I'd known Greg was going to be free. He's actually been looking for more overtime." She flashed him a grin, "It took nearly two years, but I think that paycut is starting to catch up with him."

Relaxing, Warrick returned the grin, "I'll get the rest of the doors printed before I go."

Greg made good time and arrived in just over an hour. Warrick filled him in, then with a slap on his shoulder and a wave to Catherine, he headed for the Denali.

Arriving to a silent house was a bit unexpected. Not that he expected Nick to have breakfast waiting, since Nick thought he was working a double, but he had hoped to be able to surprise the Texan by getting back early.

Warrick headed for his room to change and as he passed Nick's, he noticed the blinds were drawn. Quietly, he walked inside, able to see Nick on the bed by the light from the open door. He went in a bit further and was struck by the utter stillness of Nick's sprawled form. The memories must have been much worse than Nick had let on. Despite the dim light, Warrick could tell how drawn the handsome face was. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed, stifling a frustrated sigh. Of course Nick would never actually _ask_ anyone to help him through it. 

Just as he was about to leave again, Nick shifted and let out a murmur of distress. Warrick kept as still as possible, waiting to see if Nick calmed again. Instead, the dark eyes opened slightly.

"Hey," Warrick said softly, and smiled when Nick looked at him through half-open eyes.

"Hey," Nick gave a little smile of his own. "You watchin' me sleep?"

The instant those word left his mouth, Nick's expression changed. His eyes opened wide and focused intently on the ceiling.

"Nick?"

"Who..? Why...are you watching me sleep?"

For a split-second Warrick wondered if Nick was even talking to him.

Nick was still looking up, his only movement was to pull the blankets higher and closer. "How many holes?"

Warrick looked up as well and finally caught on. "None. You've moved since then, Nicky."

Nick closed his eyes again and his face contorted slightly. With a jerky motion, he pushed himself up on his elbows. "Where is he? Where's..." Another glance up. "What was...Nigel. Where is he?"

"He's still locked up, Nick," Warrick said firmly. "Will be for a long time."

"I never understood _why_ ," Nick frowned, sitting up straighter after another quick glance toward the ceiling. "I think...Grissom--Grissom explained it, but didn't ring true. It didn't connect with what...with the way Nigel was when we...I remember thinking--" Abruptly Nick stopped, drawing his knees up and resting his arms on them as a shudder ran through his body. Then, before Warrick could offer any comfort, Nick threw back the covers and got up so quickly he collided with Warrick's larger frame.

Warrick caught him by the shoulders and slid one hand over to cup the back of his neck. "Easy. Just breathe, okay?"

"What time is it, anyway? I must have been out for a while."

"Not really. It's just a little after ten. Cath cut me loose as soon as she could."

Nick looked troubled by that information, so Warrick smoothed his other hand along Nick's back. The sensation of warm skin under his palm was just too much to resist, and Warrick wrapped both arms around Nick, pulling him close.

Nick resisted slightly, "I'm okay. You don't have to--"

"Humor me," Warrick murmured.

With another shiver, Nick relaxed against him. "I don't gamble a lot, do I?"

"Uh...no," Warrick asked, wondering where _that_ came from or if a memory about _his_ gambling was just around the corner.

"Good, because I obviously have lousy luck."

 _Oh._ Warrick didn't say anything. It certainly wasn't a statement that could be denied.

Nick sighed, "I wonder if there was anything I could have said to him. Maybe if I'd--"

"Hey," Warrick tightened his hold. "You were right the first time, okay? It's bad luck--terrible luck, and there's nothing you could have done about it, okay?"

"Yeah," Nick agreed, although he didn't sound entirely convinced. 

Warrick brushed his lips across Nick's hair, "I'll just go get changed, then I can stay as long as you need me to, okay?"

Nick stilled briefly, then abruptly pulled out of the embrace. "That's fine. You should probably grab breakfast or something."

"What about you?" Warrick asked, wondering why things had suddenly slid off balance.

"Not hungry. I don't need breakfast. I don't need you to stay. I just need some more sleep." Nick settled back under the covers without bothering to look at him.

Warrick felt bereft and bewildered--one minute he'd been holding a wonderfully warm armful and now that armful was giving him a blatant brush-off. "Nick, what..?"

"Didn't you hear me? I don't need breakfast and I don't need you to stay. And I _definitely_ don't need you here out of a sense of obligation."

"You gotta be _kidding_ me!" Warrick quickly reigned in his anger, telling himself Nick had so much to deal with that it was bound to make him testy. "You think I would be here if it wasn't exactly where I wanted to be?" he asked, leaning in a bit closer. "Are you seriously going to argue semantics?"

Nick turned on his back and finally met Warrick's eyes. "I just don't want you to think I can't handle this. Because I can, okay? I don't need you to keep the boogeyman away."

"Okay, I get it," Warrick assured him. "You don't _need_ me to stay. Do you want me to stay?"

"Of course I do, but--"

"Then why the hell are you givin' me so much trouble about it?"

"Because I--"

" _Nick_ ," Warrick's patience was beginning to fray. "I got it. You can handle it all by your lonesome. Fine. Who says you _have_ to?"

"I just--" Nick's chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. "Sorry."

"Nah," Warrick bent to brush his lips along Nick's in an effort to reassure them both. "I'll be back in a few, okay?"

Nick nodded, but his expression didn't change. Warrick tried to chalk it up to a night of such intense memories, but didn't feel any more convinced than Nick looked.

* * *

There was no reason he couldn't visit the crime lab, Nick decided, although it would probably be a good idea to wear long sleeves and keep attention away from his stitches. They were due to be taken out in another few days and although the doctor had done an excellent job to keep the stitches small and the scarring to a minimum, at the moment they still looked ghastly.

Several people had asked when he was going to stop by, but Nick had held off, not sure what sort of memories might be prompted by a visit. Now, though, a visit seemed like a welcome distraction. It was certainly preferable to the constant circles his mind kept going in about the situation with Warrick.

His thoughts had been traveling that same circle so many times that they'd worn a familiar groove and getting out of that groove was becoming harder and harder.

More than anything, Nick wanted to be with Warrick; whenever possible, as much as possible, and however possible. And it would probably take little more than a single request for him to have just that. No doubt Warrick would keep as much or as little distance as Nick _needed._

Semantics or not, Nick was really beginning to hate that word.

So while Nick was trying to get as close to Warrick as possible, at the same time, he was trying to rely on Warrick as little as possible. In another spectacular irony, Nick knew that those damn memories which were making Warrick so protective were also the reason Warrick didn't want to let things get too involved. When the memories were difficult, Warrick would get as close as possible in order to help, but the moment Nick insisted he was fine, Warrick would back off.

Did Warrick _want_ him as a clingy weakling? Nick knew he hadn't been that before and couldn't bring himself to believe Warrick would prefer him as one. 

To make matters worse, all of these unsettling emotions only made the memories less likely to emerge and more difficult to deal with when they did. Every time Warrick saw that, he leaned more toward that caretaker role Nick did not want him to assume. It was hindering his recovery and making it more difficult to convince Warrick to intensify their relationship, separate from the memories and trauma. Making it more difficult to convince Warrick they should be together simply because they belonged together.

Of course, if he did that and all started to go well, then the worst memories would probably emerge, possibly sending everything he was trying to save straight to hell. That wasn't just a circle, it was a damn Mobius band twisting in and around itself.

Taking a step off that well-worn path to visit the lab was definitely one of the better ideas he'd had in a while.

Nick mentioned dropping by the lab to Warrick in the most non-commital manner he could, leaving it up in the air without actually saying _when_ he was planning to visit. Then he left a couple of hours into the shift when the CSIs were most likely to be out at their scenes. He didn't like the idea of avoiding Warrick, but he also didn't want Warrick shadowing him through the building. 

As he walked into the building, Nick was surprised to find how familiar the layout was to him. He'd recovered many memories about the lab, but like most of his memories, they tended to center on people rather than places. He was by the front desk, wondering which way to go first and whether he should have called ahead to check if it was a busy night when Bobby Dawson strolled by.

After a handshake and a quick hug, Bobby marched him off for a tour. Nick didn't mind, because Bobby's manner wasn't that of someone staying close to keep an eye on him, it seemed more that Bobby was happy to be the one to pop his head into the labs with and announce--"look who's here." Even though Nick kept his visits to each lab brief, not wanting to interrupt anyone's work, the tour took well over an hour. He spent fifteen minutes just in the A/V lab with Archie and then another twenty in trace listening to a litany of Hodges' complaints. After that it was Mandy in prints, Wendy in DNA, then a long chat with Super Dave when he dropped off some samples for Henry Andrews in tox and he had time for a quick visit with Ronnie in QD before Bobby installed him in the break room.

Nick spent the next several hours there, happily drinking bad coffee. He had a forensics journal handy to keep from getting bored, but never got around to reading more than a few pages. Number two crime lab in the country or not, no one was too busy to stop by the break room once they heard who was hanging out there.

Doc Robbins left the morgue when David told him Nick was in the lab. Although Nick initially found it unnerving being quizzed about his health by a coroner, Al's concern was so genuine that the idea didn't bother him for long.

Detectives who came to the lab looking for either CSIs or test results were told and all stopped by the break room. Sofia, Vartann and Vega each stayed for a cup of coffee, while Jim hauled Nick out of the lab for a quick donut run.

The only rough patch came after Nick met Bethany Fiveash, a new CSI from Phoenix there for the spot left by Hal Westbrook. Nothing unusual happened while they spoke, but after she had gone on her way, Nick began to remember picking up one of Westbrook's cases shortly after the man's heart attack. He'd made a special request for the case--for _Alexei's_ case. A case he worked with Vartann, and one that involved Sylvia Mullins somehow. When he tried to follow the memory, his mind shied violently away and another jolt of fear lanced through him, leaving him shaken.

Fortunately, the memory wasn't a persistent one and he was able to pull himself together and shake it off before anyone noticed. 

The rest of the time, Nick enjoyed himself so much that he would have been glad to spend every night ensconced there. As soon as he realized that, he decided to wait at least two weeks before coming by the lab again. Showing up like this too often would just be...sad. The visit brought home how much he was looking forward to returning to work, no matter how far away that day was.

He'd been there for a few hours when CSIs began returning, laden with evidence from their various cases. Grissom looked so surprised to see him that for a moment Nick wondered if he should even be there, but the entomologist joined him at the table and asked how he was doing. Inquiries about his well-being were something he was used to by now, but Nick couldn't shake the feeling that he was answering test questions. As much as he appreciated Grissom's interest, it was a relief when Catherine and Sara arrived.

Nick hadn't intended to stay for the entire shift, and he'd been there for nearly half of it. It was probably a good time to head home, he decided, somewhat reluctantly. Neither Warrick nor Greg was back from their scene, but next to Warrick, he saw Greg more than anyone, so it wasn't exactly a big deal to miss them at the lab. Another quick trip around, saying good-bye to those who weren't especially busy, and Nick was ready to climb in his Ranger and head home.

He was passing the short hall that led to the locker room just as Warrick and Greg were emerging. Warrick stopped in surprise, "Nick."

"Hi," Nick smiled, wondering how this was going to go.

"What..? Is something wrong?"

"No. I said I was going to stop by the lab and see everyone, remember?" Nick tried to keep his tone light, but doubted he was fooling Warrick.

Greg looked from one to the other. "I'll get this to trace," he told Warrick, then looked at Nick. "I'm coming by with the new game tomorrow, right?"

"Right," Nick agreed with a smile.

"Cool. Later," Greg hurried off as quickly as possible without actually running.

"You didn't mention you were stopping by tonight," Warrick said once they were alone.

"I just decided," Nick said, knowing Warrick wasn't going to buy it. "Well...yesterday." He hated the way is resolve to remain cool, calm and collected always crumbled around Warrick and he was reduced to that same moonstruck calf with his heart out for anyone to see. "I just didn't want to--well..." he trailed off with a shrug.

"Am I making things too crowded for you, Nicky?" Warrick asked quietly.

"No," Nick said quickly, because the last thing he wanted was _more_ distance between them. "It's just that you were working and I thought if I was here you might--"

"--get distracted?"

Now Nick felt like an egotistical jerk. "That's not it either."

"You know whenever you want me to back off, all you have to do is say so."

"And if I want you to stop backing off?" Nick blurted. "Then what do I say?"

"Nick--"

"Sorry," Nick said quickly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to--look, I'm gonna head back."

"I'll grab us some breakfast on my way home, okay?"

"Okay."

Warrick gave his arm a squeeze, all he could really do since they were at work. "No overtime, I promise."

And they were back to the beginning of the circle.

* * *

Greg didn't mind that their crime scene in Pahrump turned out to be a false alarm. Instead of processing a missing person and possible homicide, they wound up finding a cheating wife. An extremely uncomfortable situation, but preferable to the alternative. What's more, now they didn't have to make the ninety-minute drive again, and they would have if it had been a serious case.

And while being stuck in a vehicle with Warrick wasn't the nerve-wracking experience it had been when Nick was in Texas, it wasn't a whole lot of fun lately, either. When Nick first returned, Warrick's mood improved dramatically, but now he'd grown quiet again. Nick, too, had seemed very unhappy for the past week or so. Enough that both Catherine and Sara had mentioned it. Greg knew that Nick had more to deal with than any of them could imagine, but he'd seen Nick in the aftermath of some of the nastier memories, and this was different. Nick was downhearted in a way he hadn't been since returning to Las Vegas.

A few days before, when Greg had been with Catherine, sifting through debris from an arson, she'd mentioned being worried that this might be too much for Warrick and Nick to overcome. Taking a chance, Greg had asked flat out if she though they would break up, earning himself a startled look and then a smile. They'd swapped stories about how and when they'd each found out and Greg had gotten a laugh when he told her about Warrick's phone call.

Almost immediately, Catherine began hinting that maybe Warrick needed to talk to someone and it had taken Greg a few minutes to realize she meant _him_. Just as quickly, he'd lobbed the ball back into her court, "You two are good friends."

"We are," she'd agreed. "But I'm also his supervisor. I'd be crossing a line."

Initially, Greg thought she'd suggested him because he was bi--something of an open secret--and although that had probably been part of it, what she said made good sense as well.

Technically, this drive was a perfect opportunity for him to poke around the subject, but they were already halfway back to Vegas and he still hadn't thought of a way to bring it up. A bit desperate for a stalling tactic, Greg suddenly remembered the old-fashioned diner that was the only break on this long stretch of highway. He wasn't sure why he thought he'd be more comfortable trying to talk about Nick to Warrick in a public place--maybe he wanted witnesses. He knew it wasn't likely Warrick would stop, but it was worth a try. "Hey, you want to grab some breakfast at that diner coming up? The one that looks right out of the fifties? I keep wondering what it's like inside."

"Yeah," Warrick agreed with a shrug. "Why not?"

Greg did his best to hide his surprise. True, it was only a half-hour past the time their shift normally ended, but it was the first time getting home didn't seem to be a top priority for Warrick. More than anything else, that told Greg something was wrong. 

The diner--Baby Moxie's according to the neon sign outside--did not disappoint. Long and narrow, it had stainless steel, red vinyl and checkerboard trim on the inside to go along with the equally shiny exterior. An original from half a century earlier or a modern retro masterpiece, Greg didn't care--he liked the joint. Their waitress--Margo, according to her name tag--didn't have a beehive, but she did have a Jersey accent that put Jim Brass' to shame.

Warrick and Greg traded amused glances after she poured their coffee and handed them menus, then returned to the counter. Greg took a sip of the coffee and was pleasantly surprised--it wasn't anything fancy, but it was strong and fresh. _Just like I like my women,_ he almost said, but considering what he wanted to discuss, it didn't seem appropriate.

Fortunately, though, Greg now had a way to lead up to his subject, and he didn't have to search for a lame excuse. "I was kinda surprised you agreed to stop."

"Then why did you suggest it?" Warrick asked without taking his eyes off the menu. 

"Figured it was worth a shot. You're just usually so anxious to get home once your shift ends..." Greg let his voice trail off, hoping Warrick would pick up the thread.

"Yeah, well," Warrick was still studying his menu.

Well, he hadn't thought it would be _that_ easy. "So Nick's doing better then? Because he seemed kinda...y'know. He hasn't been doing so good lately."

Warrick finally looked up with a frown.

"I was just wondering if you two were having problems," Greg said, and braced himself.

" _What_?"

Greg took a sip of coffee, wishing there was something a little stronger than sweetener in it. He reflected on how sad Nick had been lately, on how hard the Texan had been trying to hide it, and pressed on. "Something like this is bound to be hard on any relationship..." his voice died away when he was confronted with that fiery green gaze.

Just then, Margo arrived to take their order and Greg made a mental note to leave her a big tip for probably saving his neck. By the time they both ordered breakfast--or as Margo put it, "Stanny, sweep up the kitchen, both these guys are gonna take a chance, flop two with a zeppelin and wreck two with tropics on the side"--Warrick had calmed down a little. Or maybe he was worried about what they were being fed, because after hearing that, Greg was.

"Hey, is that why you nearly crashed the Denali a couple of weeks ago?"

"Nah," Greg couldn't help grinning. "I realized what was going on the night Nick got back." Warrick twitched a half-smile, which encouraged him to continue, "When _did_ you guys get together, anyway?"

Warrick sobered immediately and he hesitated before replying. "Five days before Nick was abducted."

Greg felt the smile slide off his face, at a complete loss for words. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to hear, but it wasn't that. Uncertain what to say next, he fiddled with the napkin and cutlery Margo had set down.

"Has Nick said anything?" Warrick asked.

"About you guys? No. He just seems...I mean, when he first got back, you were both pretty happy, but--well, now you're both..."

"Some of Nick's memories are coming back," Warrick pointed out. "He's got a lot of stuff to deal with."

"I know that," Greg managed not to roll his eyes. Did Warrick honestly think he didn't _know_ that? "That's why I'm starting to really worry about him--and you. Neither of you need any other problems to deal with. And Nick...well, he _does_ have his doctor to talk to if he has to..." Which wasn't necessarily Greg's reason, but a viable excuse.

Warrick's eyebrows rose, "And you're sayin' I should unload on you?"

"I'm just saying if you want to...well, it's not like you'd have to break the news to me."

Margo arrived with their food which, despite her call-out, smelled delicious. Greg dug into what turned out to be the best beef hash he'd ever tasted--although he could practically hear his arteries clogging. It was up to Warrick whether this conversation would continue. Either he was willing to talk to the "lab boy" or not. If he wasn't, then no amount of pestering would change his mind and would only piss him off.

After several bites of food, Warrick finally said, "There's still a lot he doesn't remember."

Greg swallowed, "You mean he doesn't remember you guys? Because I gotta tell you, it sure seems like the two of you are--"

"He knows," Warrick nodded. "That is, the feelings are there, so he's figured it out, but he doesn't actually _remember_."

"Do you really think that means anything?" Greg frowned.

"Hey, I know there's a whole lot of other stuff he's got to handle..."

"Yeah, but if Nick knows you're together, since you _are_ together, maybe..." Greg took a bite of cantaloupe while he tried to get a handle on the direction of his thoughts. "If you're together, then Nick's psyche or whatever, might figure that he doesn't need those memories as much. Since it's already a reality, y'know?"

"Huh," Warrick chewed his toast thoughtfully.

"Is that what the problem is? Because--"

"No. No, that was never really the problem."

Greg didn't say anything. He knew this had to be tough. Warrick was never one to talk much about his problems--especially when it came to relationships. Hell, he'd only heard about the guy's marriage twice--when it happened and when it ended.

"Nick has been--" Warrick smiled humorlessly. "I can't believe I'm telling you this, but Nick doesn't really..." Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the food.

"Nick is bound to be--" Greg hesitated. He wanted to help Warrick along, and usually wasn't the least bit shy talking about sex, but these circumstances went way beyond extenuating. "Well, no one could expect him to want to--" He stopped because Warrick was waving his fork in an emphatic negative.

"It's just the opposite. He's--I don't know why, but he's trying to move things along too fast."

"Too fast for who?"

"Too fast for _him_."

Something was missing somewhere. Greg felt like he'd skipped a page. "How do you know?"

"What do you mean _'how do you know_?'" Warrick scowled.

Greg just looked at him--he didn't see how he could make the question any clearer.

"How do I know," Warrick muttered, spearing a sausage with unnecessary force. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, okay?"

"Wha--who said you weren't?" Greg blinked, astonished. "Jeez, Warrick, I never doubted that for a second."

"Okay, well, it's not a good idea for things to get too intense between us until he remembers more." Warrick's shoulders lowered slightly, Greg hadn't noticed they'd been hunched until he did. "And I'm not saying he needs to remember him and me, but more."

"How much more?"

"Jesus, you sound like Nick!" Warrick snapped, obviously exasperated. "I don't _know_ how much more, just more. It's better to keep some distance until then."

"You're both miserable. How is that better?"

"Being unhappy is no excuse not to do what's right."

"And this is what's right?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?" When Warrick glared at him, Greg hastened on, "I believe you, but how do you know? Did you talk to his doctor? Did you read up on it?" The conversation had somehow become a puzzle and Greg was determined to solve it.

"It just _is_ , okay?" Then so quietly Greg barely caught it, "It's gotta be."

"Warrick..."

"Look, sometimes the right thing is the hardest thing in the world, but that doesn't mean you don't do it."

"I know, but--"

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that a quick and easy route doesn't work in the long run. You've got to struggle for anything worthwhile."

Margo arrived to refresh their coffee and after she left Greg finished off his plate while he mulled over Warrick's words. He realized that no matter how he looked at it, he always reached the same conclusion. "You're...are you saying..? You figure you're doing the right thing _because_ it's more difficult? _That's_ your basis? That's--" He searched for a way to express his view that was wise or at least mature or at the very least wouldn't make Warrick regret confiding in him, but he really couldn't think of any other way to say what he way thinking. "Warrick, seriously...that's fucked up."

Warrick let out a startled huff, looking torn between irritation and amusement.

"You've gotta have something else you're going on. I mean, that's like saying I should have gone into...Classical Antiquities because science came too naturally for me."

Shaking his head vehemently, Warrick pushed his plate away. "You don't get it. Nick is...he's going through God knows what kind of hell, okay? There's no way I'm supposed to get any...any pleasure out of that. I'm not _supposed_ to feel good about this."

"Not even if it makes Nick happy?" Greg asked. Warrick finally looked as though he was paying attention, so he tried to get his point across. "Okay, so just because something is easier doesn't mean it's the right thing to do, but...I mean, it works the other way, too. Just because something feels good doesn't mean it's the wrong thing to do."

Warrick stared at him in silence, then leaned back in the booth and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Christ, I know what this is. I've had to...for me, fighting temptation--not gratifying every impulse. _That's_ doing the right thing."

"Gambling," Greg said with sudden realization.

"Gambling," Warrick gritted out through clenched teeth. "Fuck. Even when I'm not doing it, it finds a way to bite me in the ass."

 _Too easy_ , Greg decided, and managed not to comment on Warrick's last few words. "Shouldn't this be about how much Nick is comfortable with?"

"Yep," Warrick rubbed his eyes and let his hands fall back to the table. "That's exactly what it should be. I've been so wound up inside-out and upside down that I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore."

"Warrick, I'm not trying to tell you what to do," Greg said, uncertain now that the impact of the conversation was sinking in. "But I want you guys to be happy and you...well, you weren't and--" he stopped when Warrick held up his hand.

"I talked to one person about me and Nick, and that's when Nick was still missing. Since then I've been...yeah." He gave Greg a half-smile that managed to convey his gratitude, "I ain't gonna make a habit of spilling my guts or anything, but..."

Returning the smile, Greg nodded in acknowledgment, trying not to squirm under the warm regard in Warrick's eyes. "So...can I tell people?"

"About me and Nick?" Warrick looked mildly surprised. "I'm sure everyone will find out eventually."

"Yeah, so I don't care about that. I meant can I tell them I've been giving the great Warrick Brown advice about his love life?"

"Not if you want to live to make CSI-III."


	2. Chapter 2

He was going to have to stop thinking of Greg Sanders as "the kid," Warrick decided. The guy had a good head on his shoulders, which in Warrick's mind was a completely different thing from being highly intelligent. Two months ago he never would have dreamed of discussing his personal problems with the younger man, but it had been surprisingly easy.

Although he didn't agree 100% with everything Greg had said, it felt good to have some outlet for all the emotion that had been churning his insides since Nick was taken. And Greg was absolutely right about one thing--his reasoning had been seriously fucked up. He had been so concerned with maintaining the boundaries he's set that he hadn't even noticed they were no longer valid. So the more frustrated he got, the harder he'd hang onto his stupid idea of what was right.

Warrick sighed as he turned onto West Charleston. He had this whole shooting-himself-in-the-foot thing down to a fine art. 

If it turned out he'd set back Nick's recovery because of his own hang ups...Warrick's gut roiled at the thought. Hopefully, he hadn't pushed Nick so far away, sent him so many mixed signals, made him so miserable that the damage was irreparable. Better to go slowly, though, he didn't want to freak Nick out by suddenly coming on strong, or as Greg so delicately put it--"you aren't just gonna go home and, like, jump the guy, are you?" Warrick couldn't help grinning--Greg had a way with words, no doubt about it, but he'd also had a good point. It was entirely up to Nick how fast or slow things needed to move.

All he needed to do, Warrick reflected, was to be considerate enough to back off whenever Nick needed to change gears, no matter how intense things got. It wouldn't always be easy not to get carried away, but it was a hell of a lot simpler than the nearly impossible task he'd previously set for himself.

Now the real problem was letting Nick know that things had changed at all. Nick had been distancing himself since the memory of Nigel Crane, especially holding himself back when memories emerged. The more difficult the memory, the less likely Nick was to allow himself to accept help from Warrick. Fortunately, most of his memories lately hadn't been _that_ bad--at least not from a trauma standpoint.

Kristy Hopkins, Lillie Ivers, and Warrick's marriage had all emerged during the past week, no doubt prompted by the tension between them.

Warrick gave himself a mental shake as he parked next to Nick's Ranger. It would do him no good to get himself all wound up again. He was better off just following his instincts--something he probably should have been doing all along.

Nick was at the dining table, his laptop open in front of him, looking bored out of his mind.

The sight heartened Warrick a little--if Nick was still keeping night shift hours, then at least he wasn't trying to _completely_ distance himself yet. 

The questioning expression on Nick's face when he walked in was understandable. Before leaving for Pahrump, Warrick had called because he'd thought he'd be pulling a double, but here he was only two hours after his regular shift ended.

Despite Warrick's constant concern about getting roped into doubles, in actuality, he'd only worked three since meeting with Grissom and Catherine. There were usually a few hours of overtime several times a week, but compared to the hours he'd been working before, it almost felt like a mini-vacation.

"What happened to your scene?" 

"The guy thought his wife had been kidnaped. Turns out she had taken off with her boyfriend."

"Ouch," Nick winced.

"On the way back, Greg wanted to stop at this old-fashioned diner. I swear, since he read that Lois O'Neill tell-all, he's been channeling old Vegas." Warrick made himself stop, realizing he was just a breath away from _rambling_. He never rambled. 

Nick seemed to know something was different, but the inquisitive expression he wore was better than the troubled one he'd been sporting lately.

Warrick still wasn't sure whether he ought to try explaining everything or not. He decided to see how things went--he could always go into it if things didn't get better between them. "Working on the diary?" he asked, and grinned when Nick glared at him. The land line rang, saving Warrick from any retort as he picked it up. "Hello?"

There were several beats of silence, then--"Brown?"

"Yeah."

"It's Conrad Ecklie."

That was guaranteed to wipe the smile off anyone's face.

"Is Nick available?" Ecklie asked, "I have some...news that concerns him."

Warrick glanced at Nick, who was watching curiously. "Yeah, he's here. What's up?"

Nick's eyebrows rose in question.

"It's probably a good thing you're there, actually. I'm not sure I should be telling him at all, but I don't want some enterprising reporter catching him off guard."

Now Warrick was worried. Ecklie had actually gone above and beyond when it came to keeping the press away from Nick, despite how badly the Sheriff wanted to play up the capture of a human trafficker. "What's going on?"

"It's about Lon Moutry."

Red washed across Warrick's vision just at the mention of that name. He clenched his teeth and waited for Ecklie to continue.

"He was killed in a prison brawl yesterday evening."

**_Good._ **

"I'm not sure it will even make the news, but in case it does..."

"Yeah," Warrick looked at Nick, who had left the table at some point and was now standing next to him.

"Does he remember..?" 

"No," Warrick said flatly, wishing he could find an excuse to keep it from him. But Nick already knew the call concerned him, and wouldn't take kindly to Warrick trying to hide anything. This was preferable to Nick being blind sided by some reporter. "He's right here." Warrick handed the phone over and took a step back, trying to prepare himself for whatever might come next.

"Hello?...Oh. Hello....Oh, I'm--um, I'm doing okay. The doctors are pretty happy with my progress....Okay....Well, not really but--okay." Nick grew a little paler, his posture stiffened almost defensively. "Oh. I--oh....No, I'm okay, just...I'm not sure how to--is there anything you need me to do?...What? Why would they..? Jeez....All right...Yes. Yes, I'd appreciate that....Okay. I will....Thank you...Bye." He turned off the phone and fumbled it back into its holder. 

"Nick," Warrick wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms, but if there were memories coming, that could be exactly the wrong thing to do.

"He told you about it?" Nick asked.

"Yeah."

Nick nodded, and his gaze focused on the far wall--maybe even beyond. Warrick stayed silent and eventually Nick sighed and shook his head. "Nothin'," he said quietly.

"Hearing the name doesn't bring anything back?" Warrick didn't see how that was possible.

"Nope. I know he's one of the men who...assaulted me, but..." Nick paused, then shook his head again. "No, I don't remember any of it."

Warrick was beginning to wonder if Nick might be making it up to avoid the subject, then immediately felt guilty for thinking it. On one hand it wasn't like Nick, and on the other, if he _was_ \--who the hell could blame him? Some of his thoughts must have showed--good thing he didn't play poker anymore--because Nick gave him a humorless smile.

"I know it's weird. It's like..." Nick stopped, searching for an explanation. "It's like stuff from when you're a baby. Say your--your...Gram..?" He stopped again, this time with realization in his voice.

Warrick nodded, managing a small smile. There really was no telling when a memory would just show up.

"Okay, say your Gram tells you something you did when you were a baby. So you know it happened--there might even be pictures of it, but you don't remember it."

"Oh," was all Warrick could think of to say. He'd never hoped to have a frame of reference for Nick's state of mind, and although it might not be exactly the same, at least it was _something_.

"Except hopefully it would be something cute or at the worst--embarrassing. And in my case, I'm glad there aren't pictures," Nick tried to keep his tone light, but the effect was ruined by the shudder that ran through him.

"C'mere," Warrick put his hands on Nick's shoulders.

"I'm okay," Nick insisted.

"So you're okay," Warrick agreed. "C'mere anyway." He tugged again, and after a moment, Nick stepped into his embrace.

"Nick...what they did to you--"

"Don't," Nick said harshly, starting to pull away. "Just don't, okay? I don't know if it's the right thing to do or not, but I don't want to dwell on it until I actually remember. I'll deal with it then."

Warrick wasn't sure it was the right thing either, but it was ultimately Nick's decision. "Okay."

With a sigh, Nick pressed his face into Warrick's neck and in turn, Warrick laid his cheek against the soft hair. He felt Nick relaxing against him gradually and tightened his hold briefly before drawing back to meet the dark eyes. "You gonna be turning in soon?"

Nick looked grateful for the change in subject. "In a little while. I should probably get this latest batch of memories typed up first. Tomorrow is my day to go over them with Dr. Werne."

"It wouldn't be such a hassle if you didn't leave it all until the last minute," Warrick couldn't resist.

"I have to let some of them...sit for a few days before I go over them."

Normally, Warrick would have dropped it, but he knew in this case Nick's excuse was just that--an excuse. "Dog ate your homework?"

"Shut up," Nick said, but his lips were twitching.

Warrick grinned and reached up to run his fingers through Nick's hair, his smile widening when Nick leaned into the touch with a contented murmur. "I'm gonna grab a quick shower, then crash."

"'Kay." Nick's eyes were closed, enjoyment plain on his face.

"I was just wondering if I could crash in your room."

Nick's eyes flew open and met Warrick's, startled. They'd slept in their own rooms since Nick's memory of Nigel Crane, so he had every right to be surprised. 

Then Warrick realized that with the specter of Lon Moutry looming, Nick might not want company in his bed. "It's cool if you're not comfortable with it. I know that--"

"No," Nick quickly cut him off. "Nope, no problem at all."

"Good," Warrick said. He hesitated, then dipped his head to give Nick a soft kiss.

Nick's smile was bemused, but that was just fine with Warrick. Better bemused, or even confused, than unhappy. After another quick squeeze, Warrick broke the embrace and headed for the bathroom.

It was a relief to step under the hot spray of the shower, and let the water wash away the unnecessary weight he'd been carrying lately. His nerves were a little worn--he'd been fighting his instincts with Nick for so long that now he had to make a conscious effort to follow them. Hopefully soon he'd stop second-guessing and over-thinking everything he said and did around Nick, because it was obvious following his instincts was what he should have been doing all along. Already, Nick seemed happier and more relaxed.

After his shower, he'd taken a peek to see Nick still typing away on his laptop, pout and all. Happier, yes, but obviously he was never going to like having to keep a "diary." He ducked into his room to chuck the towel and change into a pair of boxers he kept just to sleep in, then went to Nick's room. Even though the shift had been an easy one, it had been a long night, and Warrick was glad to stretch out under the covers of Nick's bed. 

He'd fallen into a light doze when he felt Nick climb into bed beside him. "Hey," he said, rousing himself just enough to reach out and to bring Nick close to him.

"Hey," Nick returned, propping himself up on one elbow instead. "You gonna tell me what's going on, Rick? Because I know something is."

Warrick opened his eyes to find Nick looking down at him questioningly. He should have known that if Nick thought something was up, he wouldn't just let it go without some sort of explanation. "Aw, Nicky, you gonna make me admit to being a damn fool?"

The dark eyes widened, "Wow. This sounds more interesting all the time."

"It's not. It's really kinda sad," Warrick said, reaching up to stroke the dark hair. "What do you say we just pick things up again from here? From right now?" He was willing to explain if Nick pressed him any further, but he barely understood the whole thing himself.

Nick's expression had changed, and it was a look that, by now, Warrick knew well. He could only wait, and hope the memory that was emerging wasn't _too_ bad. 

"You...you said something like that to me before," Nick spoke slowly, feeling his way along. "Something about...not saying how long you want me...or how long I wanted you. Is that..?"

Warrick sat up, his heart tripping in double time.

"Wait. Why would I have to figure out if you were drunk..? What..? Oh." Nick gave that crooked half-smile of his, "You weren't drunk, though."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurred to Warrick that it was just as well he'd stopped trying to fight his instincts, because now it was definitely a losing battle. He leaned in before Nick finished speaking, and devoured any other words--along with Nick's lips--like the starving man he was.

There was no hesitation on Nick's part. He fell back against the pillow, pulling the larger man with him and wrapping both arms around Warrick's neck to maintain the contact.

Nick's mouth was like a drug Warrick just couldn't get enough of--even oxygen was secondary. Eventually, though, the need for air did become a concern, and Warrick drew back from the kiss as slowly as possible.

Dazed brown eyes blinked up at him. "Hi," Nick sounded a bit fuzzy.

Warrick grinned, glad to see he wasn't the only one the kiss had affected so strongly. "Hi."

"If I'd known that would happen, I'd have lied and said I remembered weeks ago."

The irony of the entire situation finally hit Warrick and with a tired laugh he flopped onto his back. The time when he reached for Nick, the Texan moved in close, propping his chin against Warrick's shoulder. Warrick wrapped both arms around him, and felt another grin tugging at his lips. "Can't wait to see what your doc thinks when she reads those memories."

"Oh, _hell_ , no."

Warrick chuckled again, then heaved a big sigh, trying to calm his pounding heart and swirling thoughts.

"You sound tired," Nick said.

"Weird night," Warrick admitted. "Good, but weird."

Nick shifted up enough to give him another kiss. Although not as heated at their last one, it was no less intoxicating as they lazily explored each other's mouth. Finally, Nick pulled away with a happy sigh and settled more comfortably against Warrick.

Oh, yeah, Warrick decided as he drifted off with a smile and the sensation of Nick nuzzling against his neck. He definitely owed Sanders big time.

* * *

"I think it would be better if you came home."

"Mom," Nick tried not to let his exasperation creep into his voice. She hinted at it every phone call, but rarely said it right out. "You're acting like I just told you this guy escaped from prison instead of died there."

"Sweetheart, are you sure being out there all by yourself is the best thing for you?"

Nick shored up his patience. He'd only recently gotten his parents to accept the fact that he would call every few days instead of every day. "I'm not all by myself. And I've recovered a lot of memories since I've been here."

"Bad memories." There was still a hint of reproach in her voice, leftover from when Nick, trying to relay his progress, told she and his father about recovering the memory of Nigel Crane. It probably would have gone over much better if he'd told them about the stalking when it first happened. The three-way "discussion" that followed reminded Nick why he _hadn't_ told them about it in the first place and made him doubly glad he never mentioned what happened during his flashback to his burial.

"They're _my_ memories, though. And they aren't all bad ones."

"All right," his mother conceded, although she sounded as though she was humoring him. "It just seems as though the bad ones outweigh the good."

"They don't, Mom."

"I can't help thinking you'd be happier here."

"I'm fine here. And I think I'm as happy as anyone _could_ be, in my situation."

"You haven't sounded very happy lately."

Nick sighed, she did have a point there. He had probably sounded pretty low over the past couple of weeks, but that was before. Before he remembered he and Warrick getting together. Before Warrick came home with a completely different attitude about how important that particular memory was. Nick still wasn't sure what made Warrick change his mind--he wasn't even sure of the reasoning behind Warrick's original stance and if he was going to be perfectly honest, he didn't much care about either. 

He'd asked Warrick about it after they woke late in the afternoon, but Warrick merely shook his head. "Let's just say there is such a thing as trying too hard." Because Warrick actually seemed embarrassed about it, Nick let the whole thing drop. The reasoning wasn't nearly as important to Nick at the result, anyway.

Besides, even when things were at their worst, Nick never once considered leaving Vegas, and now that they were improving, no amount of pressure from his family was going to make him go.

"You'd be better off here," his mother continued. "There are so many people here who love you."

"I have that here, too," Nick countered, bracing himself. She was really pulling out the big guns. Nick wished he hadn't had to tell her about Moutry's death, but between her, Cisco and Sammie, there was always the chance that one of them might have found out through work. If that had happened, things would have really hit the fan. 

"Sweetheart, why don't you want to come home?"

Nick hated hearing that note of hurt in his mother's voice, he tried to make his own as gentle as possible. "Mom, I know you don't like it, but Las Vegas _is_ my home. It has been for years."

"Even after all the horrible things that have happened to you there?"

"Even after." Part of Nick wanted to point out that some bad things had happened in Dallas as well, but that would absolutely break her heart. "You make it sound like everyone in Vegas is a degenerate, but you know that's not true. There's good people here."

There was a long pause, then his mother asked, "Nick, what aren't you telling me?"

Nick knew that tone, too. It meant his mother's intuition had kicked in big time. "What do you mean?"

"I'm starting to wonder if there's something specific that makes you want to stay. Some _one_ specific?"

Damn, she was good. "Uh..."

Not very eloquent, but it was all she needed to hear. "Have you met someone? Or had you met someone before? I did hear some people mention somebody named Mark--"

"Mom..."

"--but we never met anyone. If it's someone you've only met since you got back, honey--"

"Mom."

"--maybe you should go slowly. I'm not--"

" _Mom_." Nick just wanted her to stop before this got any more embarrassing.

"--trying to tell you how to live that...aspect of your life--" 

"Mom, _please_ \--" There had to be some way to make her stop.

"--but everything else considered, this might not be the best time to--"

"Mom, it's Warrick."

His mother went silent.

 _Oh,_ ** _shit_** _._ He had _not_ meant to do that.

"It's...Warrick?"

"Yeah."

" _What's_ Warrick?"

"Mom, come _on_ ," Nick sighed.

"Why didn't we hear about this sooner? Has it only been since you got back?"

"No," Nick admitted reluctantly. "It was before that, but--"

"All that time we spent with him, and he never _once_ said--"

"We hadn't even been together a week--what _could_ he say?"

Another silence, and his mother sounded a bit calmer when she spoke again. "Then that wasn't the reason you boys moved in together?"

"No, and it wasn't just because he moved in, either." Anticipating her next question, he added, "Or because of his divorce."

"Sweetheart, are you sure?"

"Mom, it's Warrick," Nick said firmly. "It's always _been_ Warrick."

A soft exclamation from the doorway made him look up. Warrick stood by the door, a bag of take-out dangling from his hand. For a moment Nick thought Warrick was angry at him for telling his folks, but the look in the green eyes quickly dispelled that notion, even as it made every inch of Nick's skin tingle.

On the phone, his mother was saying something about breaking the news to Cisco. "Okay, Mom. I gotta go now, though." 

She said something else and Nick gave all the necessary inanities--anything so he could hang up. Pulled by that heated gaze, Nick tossed the phone aside and got off the sofa, walking up to Warrick.

"Always?" Warrick's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"As far as I can remember, anyway."

Nick was vaguely aware of the take-out hitting the floor before Warrick pulled him close and captured his mouth in a searing kiss. Without a second thought, he twined his fingers in Warrick's hair and pressed their bodies as close as possible.

Warrick's lips left a heated trail along his jaw to whisper in his ear. "Nicky, you gotta let me know the second anything is too much for you."

Too busy running his hands up and down Warrick's back and concentrating on the sensation of Warrick's lips against his neck, Nick's only response was, "Mm-hmm..." He grabbed handfuls of Warrick's shirt and pulled it free of the waistband, searching for the warm skin underneath.

Warrick shuddered at his touch, "You want to take this somewhere else?"

It finally registered to Nick that they were still standing by the door. "Somewhere you don't have so many clothes."

"Anywhere you want, Nicky," Warrick's laugh was rough.

His hands on the button placket of Warrick's shirt, Nick started walking backward, tugging Warrick along and unbuttoning as they went. Warrick's room was closer, so Nick led him through the doorway by the now-open lapels of his shirt. One inside, Nick moved closer again, sliding his arms under the open shirt and pressing his lips again the bared chest. His jeans were becoming uncomfortably tight.

He felt Warrick's hand slip up his back to cup the back of his head, and obliged when Warrick tilted it back for another kiss, letting it fall back to allow Warrick's lips better access to his neck. The other hand was toying with the hem of his shirt and Nick knew Warrick would go no further without permission. Wanting to make things perfectly clear, Nick leaned back enough to strip the shirt over his head, then moved into Warrick's embrace again, letting out a moan at the sensation of finally being skin-to-skin with him.

Echoing the moan, Warrick roamed over his bared skin with hands and lips. He trailed his tongue along Nick's collar bone, and Nick bucked against him uncontrollably. "How do you want this to go, Nicky?" Warrick asked, hands on Nick's hips to steady them both.

The fact that Warrick was still able to form coherent questions just seemed _wrong_ somehow, but Nick didn't have enough breath to address that issue. "I don't care how," he panted, reaching for Warrick's fly. "But it better be soon."

Warrick's throaty chuckled dissolved into a moan as Nick stroked him through his boxers. Then, of course, Warrick had to outdo him, unfastening his jeans and pushing his shorts aside to cradle his length. 

Nick stepped back to shed the rest of his clothes and Warrick quickly followed suit. 

"Nicky, are you sure you're okay to--"

With a growl of frustration, Nick toppled them both back onto the bed.

"I'll take that as a yes," Warrick grinned, his arms coming up to encircle the man sprawled over him.

Nick moved eagerly against the muscular body beneath him, reveling in the realization of dreams and fantasies he'd been replaying since his first week in Dallas. Judging from Warrick's near-incoherence, he was enjoying the feel of Nick's undulating body just as much as Nick enjoyed grinding against him, and slid his hands down to squeeze Nick's ass encouragingly. 

Both cocks were trapped between their straining bodies haphazardly, but neither man could be bothered to adjust them. For Nick, just the thought of Warrick's body had previously been enough stimulation to push him over, so when Warrick tightened his hold, pressing them closer, the slight increase in friction was all it took.

It was a bit embarrassing how fast and hard he came, and Nick had no real idea what sort of things he shouted into Warrick's neck as he writhed frantically against the larger man. Or at least, it would have been embarrassing if Nick had been able to think straight. 

Warrick didn't seem to have any complaints, unless "c'mon, baby, just like that," could possibly be thought of as a grievance. Then with a low groan, he added to the wet warmth between them.

Nick remained blissfully relaxed on top of Warrick until the air began to cool the sheen of sweet that covered him. When his shivered, that seemed to be a sign to Warrick, who eased out from under him in search of something to clean off with.

Still fuzzy, Nick accepted the article of clothing Warrick offered without bothering to note who it belonged to and wiped himself down before crawling under the covers. Warrick joined him after a moment and Nick couldn't hold back a contented sigh as he was pulled in close.

It finally felt as though he was really home.

Nick didn't even realize he'd said out loud until he heard Warrick murmur, "That's because you are home, baby."

* * *

The first shift after their little heart-to-heart, Greg--not having heard about Lon Moutry--had hinted and teased unmercifully for information. Warrick would have liked to been able to tease back, but instead he had to tell Greg about Moutry's death. That put a damper on the younger man's spirits and changed his hinting to interrogating about how Nick was and whether he should be alone right now. Warrick had several doubts about that as well, but Nick had more or less insisted he go to work.

Tonight, he was in such a good mood, Warrick knew people were bound to guess _what_ he'd been up to, if not with whom. Greg was bound to be absolutely insufferable, but Warrick figured he was allowed to be--at least for a little while. When he got to work, however, there was no time for banter or teasing. Three simultaneous casino heists an hour before shift started meant they were all in for a long night. Amazingly, there was only one fatality amidst all the automatic fire, but there were still several dozen injured. No one bothered mentioning the possibility it was a coincidence--the odds were too high, even for Vegas.

Warrick was still questioning witnesses at the El Dorado long after the sun came up. He called Nick to say he'd be working a double, but just an hour later, three banks were hit. That took things to a whole new level and increased their death toll by two more. Although Warrick got home for a few hours in the afternoon, Nick was at a session for one of those hours, and they'd only had time for a meal and a few kisses before another call came in. Three jewelry stores were held up, and four people had been killed.

Faced with not only nine major robberies in 36 hours, but the very real possibility the deaths were deliberately being doubled at each scene, the Sheriff called all hands on deck until everything had stopped. Warrick worked 24 hours straight before three armored cars were held up on the California side of the state line. Eight of the company's employees had been killed, leaving one lone survivor. Once it crossed state lines, it became a federal problem, and except for Oscar Deems and Valerie Hammond from swing, everyone went back to their usual schedule.

That gave Warrick about five hours before his usual shift started, and he knew he had to get some sleep more than anything else. Unfortunately, neither his mind nor his body was slowing down enough for him to get any rest and even Nick's calm, steady breathing next to him wasn't helping the way it normally did. He turned from one side to the other for what was likely the twentieth time in as many minutes.

Nick grunted as the restless movement jostled him yet again.

"Sorry," Warrick said.

"You really need some sleep, Rick. Try to relax."

"I _am_ trying."

"Would it be easier for you to fall asleep if I wasn't here?"

"Nope." And just to make sure he got his point across, Warrick turned to face Nick again, draping an arm over his ribs.

With a soft smile, Nick moved closer.

Warrick closed his eyes and tried to stop the case from running through his mind. It was nearly impossible when he'd thought of little else for two days, but hadn't been pushed to the point of exhaustion that would force him to sleep. He did manage to stay still for nearly five minutes before switching to his other side again.

" _Rick_ ," Nick's laugh was one of exasperation.

"Sorry," Warrick said again, rolling onto his back and staring up into the darkness.

Nick moved away briefly, then returned, pressing his entire body to Warrick's side and stretching one leg across both of Warrick's.

"You really think that's gonna help me sleep?"

"Maybe not right away." Nick slid his hand down Warrick's chest, pausing briefly to toy with his nipples before continuing slowly along his abs and finally down to grasp his cock, which had started taking notice of the situation the moment Warrick felt Nick's burgeoning erection against his thigh.

"Nick," Warrick would have reached for him, but one arm was trapped between their bodies and he suddenly needed his other hand to hold onto the edge of the mattress and ground himself as Nick ran his thumb over the weeping head, massaging the slit gently.

"I got this one, Rick," Nick murmured against his shoulder, then demonstrated further by running his fingers along Warrick's length before dipping down to fondle the heavy sac beneath. Sliding his other arm under Warrick's neck, Nick curled himself around Warrick's entire body the same way his fingers curled around the hardening cock.

A bit dazed with what was being done to him, Warrick wondered vaguely if he shouldn't be returning the favor somehow, but he finally registered the sensation of Nick grinding lazily against his thigh. He wouldn't have thought it possibly, but somehow that made it even better.

Nick's fingers slid up and down his erection with just enough pressure--or lack of pressure--to drive Warrick crazy. Groaning, he laced the fingers of his free hand with those of the one Nick had under his neck and managed to snake his other hand from between their bodies to grasp Nick's hip. Nick murmured something unintelligible and pressed his body even closer.

"God, Nicky..." Warrick tried to buck his hips, but Nick tensed his leg, not allowing him much movement.

Instead of speaking, Nick wrapped his hand more fully around Warrick's cock, which was steadily leaking, making it easy for Nick to establish a smooth rhythm. By now, Nick was also panting, the speed of his undulations matching those of his hand.

Warrick closed his eyes and rode out the waves of pleasure created by multiple sensations. Their fingers twined together so tightly it was almost painful; Nick's had on his cock, still a touch he wasn't used to, but so, so good; and Nick's hip flexing under his hand all combined to push Warrick over the edge.

Moaning Nick's name, he came all over Nick's hand, barely aware of the warmth against his thigh when Nick found his own release only moments later. Warrick allowed himself to float briefly, and when he finally started to think about moving, Nick was already cleaning them both off.

Anything Nick might have said when he settled back in against Warrick was lost to the welcome darkness of a thoroughly sated sleep.

* * *

One effect of his returning memories that Nick had not anticipated was what it did to time--or at least to his perception of time. When he was still fumbling to regain his life in Las Vegas, he could spend hours swimming through the murkiness of half-formed memories. Now that he had enough memories to feel like his feet were firmly on the ground again, time began to slow down. Often to little more than a crawl.

For the most part, Nick was still keeping graveyard hours, even though the nights alone could get very long. He spent most of his time alternately sifting through memories and wishing he could be out working a scene with everyone else. The more he remembered about his job and his co-workers, the more he missed it. The only books that really held his interest right now were those centered around criminalistics even though less and less of what was inside time seemed like new information.

He'd finally received a clean bill of health from his medical doctor and had been cautiously hinting around about going back to work without any real response from Dr. Werne. During his last session, he asked her straight out and she replied with equal bluntness that under no circumstances could she imagine approving someone in his situation to return to work in less than six months. Sensing his next question, she quickly added that six months was only a starting point and not a guarantee.

Nick resigned himself to that for the time being, and settled for rebuilding and improving his store of scientific information.

Having most of his closest friends all working the same hours did make hanging out a bit tricky, especially when part of him wanted to spend every free moment with Warrick. He didn't, of course, now that he felt more comfortable out and about he got together often with Greg or Sara and sometimes Bobby or Archie. 

He and Catherine had a "date" at least twice a week, unless work prevented it. Mondays and Wednesdays his sessions were at three in the afternoon and he usually finished around four. Lindsey's dance lessons--which began at four--were a few buildings down from Dr. Werne's office. In between was a little bakery where he and Catherine would meet for coffee during the lesson. They talked about anything under the sun, and Nick suspected she knew about he and Warrick, even if that was the one thing she didn't bring up.

Nick still wasn't sure how to go about telling their friends that he and Warrick were together--he hadn't even discussed the subject with Warrick yet. It had been nearly two weeks since he'd blurted out the truth to his mother and he was still dealing with the fallout. He'd only spoken to his father once during that time and knew that Cisco was ten different kinds of ticked off, even though Nick doubted his father would even be able to decide what he was actually angry _about_. His mother tried her best to keep the tone of her calls the same as always. She even asked after Warrick, although Nick could tell it was a bit of an effort for her.

Sammie called to thank him for keeping things from getting too dull and to say that she would be coming to Vegas before long to "check out this Mr. Brown she'd heard so much about." True to form, Brett never mentioned Nick's revelation, but the tone of the conversation was the same as ever, and his "say hey to Warrick" sounded much more sincere than their mother's attempt. Also true to form, Susannah gave Nick a quick rundown of the rest of their siblings' reactions, but then she floored him by asking for Warrick and talking to him for nearly twenty minutes.

It took two days of coaxing and cajoling before Nick got Warrick to tell him what that had been about, and finally managed to convince him that it wouldn't be something that would interfere with his memories since he hadn't even been present. Warrick finally told him and for Nick, learning that Suz had figured out about he and Warrick wasn't nearly as surprising as learning she'd figured out he was gay almost before he had. Nick found he was a little sorry when Warrick gave in explained, because he'd been having a very good time trying to bribe the information from him. 

Once it was established what Nick was comfortable with, Warrick stopped asking if he was okay every few minutes. Nick usually had to initiate anytime he wanted to try something new, but once Warrick knew, he did plenty of initiating of his own. In this way, they had made very pleasurable progress together.

There was still one aspect of their sex life they hadn't explored, and at first, that had suited Nick just fine. It wasn't so much the rape--that still didn't seem _quite_ real to him--as it was the after effects. His injuries had healed completely, but while he'd been in the hospital the pain had been substantial and had lingered for a couple of weeks afterward.

It made him wary, to a certain extent, but any wariness had disappeared over the past week, especially after Nick recovered more and more of their short time together before... _before._

More than once, Warrick had muttered something about the irony of their timing, which Nick took to mean his finally remembering right _after_ Warrick decided it wasn't as important as before. Recently, Nick had discovered an even greater irony--that he actually _had_ remembered something from their relationship long before, but hadn't been able to recognize it for what it was. He now knew that when he'd asked about being spoiled, he _had_ been in Warrick's arms, and Warrick had followed up his reply with a kiss. Even though they had established that his memories--lack of memories--weren't the main reason for Warrick's reluctance, Nick didn't think it would be a good idea to mention that particular memory's emergence to Warrick. 

Another memory, one that both amused and embarrassed the hell out of him, indicated that he had been the one to plan when they actually slept together for the first-- _only?--_ time. He still didn't remember all the details of what exactly had transpired, but he knew that it had been good. 

Good enough that he was eager to give it another try, planning and all.

* * *

It was becoming difficult to maintain that laid-back attitude he was known for--one that was usually second nature to him. Difficult not to walk with an extra bounce in his step and keep to that rambling stride people were so accustomed to seeing from him. Still, he managed well enough that the only people who noticed were the people _looking_ for a difference.

Catherine would often glance at him with a smile and a knowing glint in her eye, even though she never said a word about it. Warrick didn't mind any of that; it was when she gave him that _aren't-you-adorable?_ look as though he was a six-year-old with his first crush that he felt like hiding under the nearest lab table.

Greg, on the other hand, was a constant source of smug grins and innuendo which would have gotten annoying by now if Warrick wasn't in such a good mood most of the time.

At the moment, he was getting a reprieve from silent but constant teasing. He was working a case with Sara and was pretty sure that if she knew she would have mentioned it to either him or Nick by now.

The main portion of their crime scene was the van the victim had been found in, and they lucked out in that they were able to do the processing in the lab's garage. Normally, only vehicles that required heavy-duty processing--reassembly or disassembly--were done in the garage, but at the moment it was empty, so they caught a break. They were able to process in safe, ideal surroundings with some good tunes playing in the background. No wind, no noise, no looky-lous, no problem.

Hopefully, Sara would attribute his upbeat attitude to that.

"So you coming with us to the movie Tuesday?"

"What? That Swiss film you've been talking about?"

"Norwegian," Sara corrected.

"Hell, no. How'd you rope Nick into that, anyway?"

"Just had to plead a little bit," Sara replied, dusting the steering wheel. "He's been in such a good mood lately that it wasn't too hard."

Warrick had to fight to keep his grin from getting too big, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sara replied lightly, most of her attention focused on getting a good print lift. "It's really kind of amazing when you consider his situation. I'd say he even seemed giddy sometimes, except he'd hate me for it."

Warrick couldn't choke back a laugh. "Guys don't get giddy."

"Says you. You wouldn't notice, anyway. You've been nearly as bad lately. Hey..." Sara's tone was one of discovery.

As he tape-lifted some powder from the carpet, Warrick waited for the other shoe to drop.

"Did our vic have kids?"

That was so far off the mark from what he'd expected to hear that it took a minute for Warrick to gather his thoughts. "Not as far as I know. There were no other indications of children. Why?"

"There's little fingerprints all over the dash."

"We'll have to call Caveliere to double check." Warrick wasn't sure whether he was relieved or not, but quickly changed his focus. With the new possibility that children were involved--child _ren_ , because in the next moment Sara found she had small and _very_ small prints--they processed even more thoroughly than usual.

Nearly an hour later, Sara got ready to go question a possible witness with Caveliere. Warrick was to finish up and drop off their evidence before meeting up with them at the victim's apartment. The prints went to Mandy, although Warrick wasn't holding out too much hope that she'd get many hits. Trace was his next stop, and as he approached, he saw Greg and Hodges in the midst of a heated argument. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were definitely facing off, invading each other's space. It wasn't like either man to be that aggressive, so Warrick hurried through the doors.

"Hey," was all he said, but it startled them both into taking a step back. They continued to eye one another angrily. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Greg replied quickly, shooting Hodges a warning look.

Hodges snorted, and Warrick couldn't help being impressed by the amount of derision the chemist could relay without saying a word.

Greg's glare darkened. "I was just reminding Hodges that the people who work here have rights and no one is going to be able to just ignore them."

Having quickly recovered his usual blasé attitude, Hodges addressed Warrick as if Greg wasn't even there. "One of you people needs to teach your infant CSI all about these things called loopholes and that there are people who know how to use them."

"You mean all those people whose asses you love to kiss?"

Warrick's eyes widened slightly--that wasn't like Greg at all.

Hodges didn't even blink at the insult. "And while you're at it, maybe explain the difference between relaying information and _agreeing_ with it."

Warrick looked from one to the other--they were both watching him expectantly. Did they actually think he was going to get into one of their bizarro arguments and try to sort it out for them? Hell, no. His good mood only extended so far. Instead, he spread all the trace out on one of the tables. "Glad to see you have some free time, Hodges. You can get to this right away." He gave Greg a hard look, "That case we were working--the one I said you could run with--how's it coming?"

"Good," Greg said quickly, now looking uncomfortable. "I was just...right."

Hodges was already sorting through the trace.

Warrick shook his head and held the door open to let Greg precede him out of the lab. "Just be glad it was me and not Grissom who came across your little go 'round," he muttered to the younger man.

With not trace of his recent teasing mischief, Greg merely nodded.

* * *

Nick debated several times between preparing a big breakfast or a simple one. A big breakfast would be the nicest, but if Warrick was really full after, he might just feel like crashing. Even as he turned the possibilities over, Nick hated himself for it. It was almost as though he were _fretting._

There was always the third option of just pouncing on Warrick as soon as he walked through the door. Nick was fairly sure Warrick wouldn't mind that and it would have the added bonus of showing that he truly wanted what he was asking for.

Because he did.

If he felt a little queasy whenever he thought about it, if his stomach clenched uncomfortably one moment and fluttered with anticipation the next, that was only to be expected. There was a myriad of reasons for him to be nervous, and not all of them had to do with the assault.

For one thing, the last time he'd actually remembered sleeping with a man, he'd still been in college. Anyone would be nervous after so many years, and even if his time frame was still a little messed up, it _did_ seem like years.

He _was_ worried what could happen if he had a flashback right in the middle of things, but hoped the fact that he was aware of the possibility would somehow prevent it. Then there was the concern that Warrick would have a problem sleeping with him, knowing what had happened. As much as Nick tried to tell himself that Warrick still wanted him in spite of knowing, that Warrick had shown he still wanted Nick, the fear still lurked in the back of his mind that Warrick would now see him as fundamentally different.

Instead, Nick tried to concentrate on the reasons he _wanted_ this to happen. There was really only one, but it was powerful enough to override most of his fears. It had been good with Craig, despite all the problems they'd had, but Nick knew it would be infinitely better with Warrick--hell, it already was.

He had to stop thinking about it so much, though, or he was going to end up making a complete fool of himself. A smile tugged at his lips as he decided that, at least, was more or less a moot point. Warrick was usually pretty good at leaving him unable to think, anyway.

Everything they'd need was already in his bedroom. Nick didn't _really_ care where they were, but he did have the vague notion that he would be less nervous in his own bed. 

Glancing at the time, Nick's smile turned rueful, all he internal debate meant that having a big breakfast ready wasn't an option anymore. Barring overtime or a last-minute double, Warrick would be home before too long. Nick put on some coffee, though, and trying to ignore that nasty little voice in the back of his mind that insisted on calling him "the little woman" whenever he tried to do something nice for Warrick. No doubt it was some weird, leftover fear from college, only making itself known when he was already stressed out about other things.

Nick settled himself on the couch and turned on the television in an attempt to distract himself. It managed to silence the nasty little voice, but not much else. It was all Nick could do to stay seated when he heard Warrick's jeep pull up and wait until Warrick had shrugged out of his jacket before standing.

"Hey," he said, walking into Warrick's arms to give him a welcoming kiss. "How was work?"

"Messy," Warrick sighed with another kiss. He frowned briefly, looking puzzled, "And a little weird in the lab."

"Same old, same old, then."

Warrick grinned and pulled him closer. "Pretty much."

They moved away from the door, exchanging lazy kisses as they went. They'd quickly established the knack for being able to move easily through the house without breaking their embrace. "You hungry?" Nick brushing his lips against the roughness of Warrick's chin.

"For what?" Warrick's voice was teasing.

Nick's nerves got the better of him and he pressed a kiss to the hollow of Warrick's throat, then kept his eyes fastened on the spot when he said, "Me?"

"Do you even have to ask?" 

"Do you know what I'm asking?" Nick met the gleaming green eyes.

Warrick's smile faded a little, and Nick had to force himself to hold Warrick's gaze, able to see the moment Warrick realized what he meant. "Nicky..." Warrick ran a thumb along his cheek. "Nicky, are you..."

"So help me, you ask if I'm sure and I'm gonna have to hurt ya."

"Okay," Warrick smiled again, more softly. "But you've got to tell me if--"

"Rick, I promise if I start getting really uncomfortable, I tell you." And if their definitions of _really uncomfortable_ were completely different, so be it. Nick was certain, had been all along, the most important factor was that once they'd started, they didn't stop merely because of his uneasiness.

Warrick nodded slowly, "You know there's no reason you _have_ to--"

"--except that I want to," Nick finished for him. "Isn't that a good reason?"

"Damn good reason," Warrick bent his head, and Nick eagerly met him halfway.

There was nothing even remotely like discomfort at first, just the deep kisses and soft touches Nick had grown used to but never got tired of. They had begun moving again, slowly making their way in the general direction of the bedrooms.

"Where Nicky?" Warrick asked, his warm, wet breath tickling Nick's ear and making him shiver.

"My room," Nick said, then with no thought whatsoever added. "We were in your room the other time."

"Yeah, we were," Warrick grinned, as pleased as always whenever Nick remembered something about them. Then he covered Nick's mouth again, exploring the interior even as his hands explored underneath Nick's shirt.

As they moved into the semi-darkness of his bedroom, Nick's shivers became less about pleasure. He pulled back before Warrick could notice, his movement causing Warrick's hands to slide down to his hips, keeping him from going any further. Already his trepidation was subsiding again, so Nick used the opportunity to pull his shirt off before reaching for the hem of Warrick's.

Warrick gave him a long, careful look before raising his arms so Nick could strip off his shirt as well, then wrapped his arms around Nick in an all-encompassing embrace. Marveling that Warrick knew just what he needed without either of them saying a word, Nick pressed his face to Warrick's chest and waited for the shadows around the edges of his thoughts to subside.

"Nicky," Warrick whispered.

Worried that Warrick might decide to call things off, Nick reached for the fastenings of Warrick's jeans, but when Warrick did the same, it suddenly wasn't right. Something that should have been familiar...wasn't. As slowly as he could, not wanting Warrick to think he was freaking, Nick extracted himself from the embrace. "I'll do it," he said, unbuttoning and unzipping them himself.

"Okay," Warrick agreed, although there was a hint of reluctance in his voice. He stepped back to strip his own pants off.

Nick sat on the bed, holding out his arms to Warrick, drawing Warrick down to lie on top of him. He concentrated on running his hands over whatever part of Warrick's skin he could reach while Warrick murmured encouragement in his ear, drowning out any nasty whispers that wanted to make themselves known. 

He was just beginning to relax again when Warrick asked, "In the nightstand?"

"Yeah," Nick said, and quickly anticipation morphed into trepidation again.

Warrick made no move to get anything from the nightstand, though, and continued his unhurried exploration of Nick's body with his lips, tongue and fingers. As Warrick began moving down his body, Nick found he also had to deal with embarrassment, because he wasn't nearly as hard as he would normally be by this point. Warrick didn't comment, instead he used his tongue to rectify the situation. 

The sound of the nightstand drawer opening made Nick tense again, but then Warrick's mouth engulfed more than half his length and Nick forgot he even _had_ a nightstand. Slowly, as though he had all the time in the world, Warrick gradually moved and shifted until he was kneeling between Nick's legs, never once taking his lips from Nick's now-leaking erection. 

Nick lost himself to the sensation of soft touches to the inside of his thighs, his balls being played with by gentle fingers, but mostly that wet heat enveloping his cock. When he felt a slick finger work its way under him and between his cheeks, Nick forced himself to remain relaxed. Warrick was still taking his time, petting the puckered opening before slowly pushing his finger inside.

A breath Nick didn't even know he'd been holding suddenly escaped and instead of tensing, he instinctively spread his legs and bent one slightly, a silent request for more. Warrick obliged, adding a second finger and pushing them deep enough to nudge the tiny gland. Adding a third finger briefly, Warrick whispered, "This okay, baby?"

"Yes," Nick gasped, drawing both legs up.

There was the sound of a wrapper being opened, and moments later, Warrick's hands returned to his thighs, stroking and kneading gently. Then Nick felt Warrick's cock nudging against him for entrance to his body and suddenly he couldn't draw any air into his lungs. 

Panting, Nick closed his eyes, but that changed uneasiness into fear, and he forced them open again, staring at Warrick, who _did_ have his eyes closed.

 _Don't tense up,_ Nick told himself desperately. _Look. It's Warrick. It's_ ** _Warrick_** _and you want this._

But Warrick had stilled, and when he opened his eyes, Nick closed his again, knowing Warrick would call things off if he saw the turmoil there. But the darkness made it easier for that shadows of bad memories return to the edges of his consciousness, and Nick felt tears fell his eyes when he realized they might have to stop after all.

"Nicky..." 

_That voice_.

"Baby, it's okay."

Nothing bad ever happened to him when he heard that voice.

Nick tightened his legs around Warrick's hips, drawing him closer, urging him deeper. He opened his eyes to find Warrick's face over him, studying him so intently, it sent a cascade of the _good_ shivers through him. "Warrick..." he said, wrapping his arms around the larger man. "Yes."

Fierce green eyes locked on his, and then Warrick began to move. For another brief moment something

_bad_

snaked through his mind, but then Warrick said his name again and slid across his prostate. After that Nick just held on tight with his arms and legs and lost himself to the pleasure of what Warrick was doing to him. Warrick chanted his name with each thrust and although Nick knew he also managed to gasp out several things, he had no idea what they were.

His cock--now trapped between their bodies--had all the friction it needed, and before long Nick was crying out as he came. Like a tornado gathering everything in its path, Nick's release swept up his terror, his apprehension and his worries along with his pleasure, leaving him unable to fight the tremors that shook him from head to toe

He was vaguely aware of Warrick cleaning them off, unable to decide whether he felt good or not. When he was drawn into Warrick's arms, he managed to return the embrace, still shaking slightly. He felt Warrick's lips against his cheek, heard Warrick's voice hoarse with emotion. "Nicky, I swear I'm never gonna get over how brave you are."

Nick didn't have the energy to reply, but Warrick seemed to understand and just held him tight until gradually his trembling lessened and drowsiness washed over him.

"Go to sleep, baby," Warrick whispered.

So Nick did, drifting off to the sensation of soft kisses being rained down on his face.

* * *

Nick walked into Sorensky's Bakery and smiled at Catherine when he saw her seated that "their" table. He went to the counter to get some coffee and a piece of apple crumble before joining her. "Hey."

"Hey," Catherine smiled in return. "How you doing?"

Nick had long since gotten frustrated with that question, but when he complained about it to Catherine, she pointed out it was more of a habit that anything else, and she wasn't about to stop worrying about him in any case. Nick realized that he was actually being touchy about a question he often greeted people with and Catherine's "would you rather I didn't give a shit?" pretty much put the matter to rest. He'd also learned--or maybe remembered--that he was better off answering her honestly because she always knew if he was fronting. Fortunately, today it was simple enough to answer positively and truthfully. "Good. Pretty low-key session--just a lot of little memories lately. You?"

"Getting by. Things have finally calmed down after the Atwater debacle."

The young woman who worked behind the counter came by to refill their coffee cups, even though technically she wasn't a waitress and neither of their cups needed much filling. Nick returned her smile politely as she replaced the single sip he'd taken and when she left he saw Catherine watching with amusement.

"Don't get her hopes up, Nicky."

Nick's jaw dropped. "I wasn't--I was just--"

"I know," Catherine nodded in understanding. "She asked me about you last week. Haven't you noticed she flirts like crazy whenever you come in?"

"Uh..." Nick willed himself not to turn red. "I'm usually still thinking about everything that happened in the session when I come in--" He stopped when Catherine gave an unladylike snort.

"Like you'd notice in any case. I told her you were unavailable."

"Unavailable."

"Well, you are," Catherine smirked, then after a beat added. "To her, anyway."

Nick felt a smile tug at his lips. He knew that Catherine had to know about he and Warrick by now, and she knew he knew, but neither of them ever _quite_ addressed it directly. Instead they would always mention it with some ambiguity, getting as close as possible without saying anything outright. It had become a game between them. 

"So you keeping busy?" Catherine asked, picking up the conversation again.

"Don't ask me that," Nick made a face. "I'm starting to go nuts."

"Too much time, not enough to do," Catherine sympathized.

"Dr. Jeffries gave me a clean bill of health a while ago, so at least I've been able to kill a couple of extra hours at the gym each week, but Dr. Werne says it's gonna be at least a couple more months before I can go back to work-- _at least_."

"Nick, you've been through--"

Nick didn't need to hear it another time. "Cath. I _know_."

"I guess you're getting pretty sick of hearing certain things."

"Sorry. I've got too much time to spend thinking about stuff. Too much time on my hands, period."

"Hmph," Catherine's lips curved teasingly. "Too bad you don't have someone--I mean, thing--to keep those hands busy."

Nick simultaneously fought to keep his smile from escaping and his face from turning red, but his good mood returned at once.

Catherine stuck to the subject of work after that, for which Nick was grateful. If he couldn't actually _be_ at work, at least he could hear about the cases and keep his mind in shape.

Lindsey came in after dance practice, starving as always. To tide her over on the ride home, as always, Nick bought her one of the lemon croissants she claimed to be addicted to.

As they walked out to their vehicles, Catherine gave his arm a squeeze. "Take it easy, Nicky. And stop worrying about your job."

Her phrasing struck him as a bit odd, but not enough to occupy his thoughts as he drove home, stopping to pick up supper for he and Warrick along the way. 

Passing time when Warrick was around was never a problem. There were even occasions when time passed so quickly that Warrick had to scramble to make it to work on time. It was getting close to a week since their first--second--time together, and Nick hoped it wouldn't be too much longer before their next. He had been surprised at how sore he was the next day, considering how careful Warrick had been, but chalked it up to the tension that he hadn't been able to shake. It had faded after a couple of days, anyway. The next time, he was certain, that trepidation would no longer be present. Already whenever he thought about it, anticipation outweighed every other emotion. 

He and Warrick came up with plenty of other ways to satisfy each other until then. 

In the meantime, Nick had another night to kill. He had no errands to run, and the house was already far beyond his usual neatness. It was _painfully_ neat, since cleaning had become another way to pass the hours.

He looked over his bookshelves, even though he had long since made his way through the majority of his forensics collection. There were two shelves dedicated to books about birds which had surprised-yet-not-surprised him when he first noticed it months before. Not surprising because he'd had a fascination with birds since childhood, but surprising to see how much he'd nourished the interest since leaving Texas. He hadn't looked at any of them since his return to Vegas.

Idly, he opened the door to the cabinet section directly underneath, even though he knew that--among other things--his binoculars and sketchpad were inside. He picked up the sketchpad and almost immediately was enveloped by a sense of foreboding. __

_Don't._

_Don't touch. Don't look. Don't dwell. Just_ **_don't_ ** _._

Nick grabbed the binoculars as well and went to his bedroom closet, cursing himself for a coward the entire time. What he _should_ be doing was following that feeling until it led him to a memory. He wanted to finally deal with whatever it was that terrified him so much it made him feel physically ill. Technically, he already knew what it was--had known all along. So why the hell couldn't he just man up and face it?

Even as he was berating himself, Nick was rooting through the closet for somewhere to tuck the items away. He was shifting a legal-sized box when he noticed "horses" scrawled on it in black marker. Although he liked horses well enough, he'd never been involved enough to have a box full of related items in Vegas. Intrigued, he opened a flap to look inside.

There were only papers on top, and Nick pulled out a handful for a better look. He broke into a smile when he recognized plans and measurements for a buggy and stagecoach as well as patterns for tack and a wagon harness.

During various sessions with Dr. Werne, he had remembered much of his stay in Texas after his burial, even his visit to Brett's home in Houston. Now he remembered discussing Alec's Breyer horse collection and his own contributions to it. 

Eagerly, he followed that memory instead. It was one of those "commonplace" memories--his term for them--that he continued to recover every few days. Memories that he rarely would have referred to had his situation be normal and that only popped up in the face of their very specific triggers.

He'd started making the models while he was still working in Dallas, initially because seven-year-old Alec had mentioned the lack of vehicles and tack that suited the 1:9 scale and Nick took a notion to see what could be done about it. It had been nothing more than a fancy to see if his could actually make something so small. Alec and Susannah's son, Kyle, had been so thrilled with the results that Nick had continued to make them as gifts for years after, only stopping after the article in the Vegas Department newsletter referred to him "making and inventing toys." He'd reasoned that his nephews, in their late teens by that time, wouldn't have been too interested any longer, anyway.

Now he wasn't so sure about that. Alec could have very well been hinting around for him to continue the tradition during the conversation. There was certainly no denying the very blatant hint in regards to Michaela's brand new collection.

Nick knew he would have to phone Sammie to find out for certain, but in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to check on his supplies to see what he had. He carried the box out to his dining table, dark memories forgotten as he began sorting through the contents. Balsa wood, paints, pieces of leather and metal, a variety of small tools and the two second-hand Breyer horses he used to try things out were the basics and covered most of the table. There were also pictures of old horse-drawn vehicles and a multitude of little items Nick had bought or picked up thinking they might come in handy at some point. 

Settling himself at the table, Nick set aside the now-empty box and began inspecting everything more closely, any thoughts of boredom completely gone.

* * *

Warrick used to tell Nick at least two or three times a week that he didn't have to make breakfast every day. Nick always countered by saying he needed stuff to do to keep from getting bored. 

There was no denying he enjoyed returning to a home-cooked meal after a rough shift and Nick seemed to be enjoying himself, even trying out things he'd never cooked before, so Warrick had stopped mentioning it.

That's why it was something of a surprise to walk in and _not_ smell anything cooking. Even the scent of brewing coffee was absent, especially strange because breakfast or no breakfast, coffee was a given.

What he found instead was Nick hunched over the table and had all sorts of...stuff--Warrick really couldn't think of any other word for it--spread over it. The only object Warrick recognized with any certainty were two toy horses. "Hey," he said as he approached the table, since Nick obviously hadn't heard him come in.

Nick looked up with a slight frown. "What are you doing here?" 

Warrick wasn't sure how to reply to that question, but caught on when Nick looked at his watch, his jaw dropping. Whatever he was doing, he'd obviously been at it for a while. Speaking of which--"What are you doing?"

Almost immediately, Nick began rubbing at the back of his neck, always a sure sign of embarrassment.

Warrick knew he was going to enjoy this, whatever it was. There was already a bit of extra color in Nick's face, and Nick seemed to be having trouble coming up with an explanation. Warrick picked up one of the horses to examine it more closely, "What's with the toy horses?"

"They aren't toys, they're models," Nick said, then colored even more.

Warrick nodded his understanding, trying to keep his smile under wraps.

"I came across these in my closet. Two of my nephews collect these Breyer horses, yeah?" he held up the other one. "And they always used to complain that it was tough to find enough tack and saddles, and wagons and carriages and whatnot were even harder to come by. So years back I started making them--usually for Christmas, but sometimes for birthdays. Well, when I was visiting Brett last summer, Alec--that's one, Kyle's the other one--showed me where he kept all the things I'd made for him. He was talking about it and saying how Sammie's daughter, Michaela--she was eight then--had just got her first model horse and would probably go crazy for a wagon or something. Anyway, I remembered that tonight when I saw the box, then I decided to take a look to see what sort of supplies I had on hand. And while I was lookin' through everything, I figured maybe I'd better try working with the stuff a little bit. It's been a while since I worked with any of it and I thought I might be a little rusty. So, y'know, I've been working on a...prototype..." Nick finally ran out of steam, red to his ears by now.

Warrick had long since lost the battle with his smile and was grinning so hard his jaw ached. "So how long you been at it?"

Nick looked at his watch again, "Um..."

"Or don't you want to say?"

"I'd rather not say," Nick muttered.

Impossibly, Warrick found his grin widening. He leaned over and gave Nick a lingering kiss. "Tell you what, cowboy. I'm gonna grab us some breakfast, and then I think you ought to take a break."

* * *

Nick had never dreamed that Warrick would get such a kick out of his building model carriages, but his lover seemed endlessly amused by it. Warrick didn't show a lot of interest in the models themselves, just in Nick's enthusiasm for making them.

He told Nick to leave everything out on the dining table and even set up his own freestanding adjustable lamp so Nick had better light to work by. Warrick did an enormous amount of teasing about it, but Nick found he didn't mind it very much. That was likely because countering the jokes were things like the lamp, or finding stores where Nick could get supplies or the suggestion of a magnifying lens like they used at the lab--Nick half-expected to see Warrick come home with one.

Or today, when Warrick to got home to find Nick had pulled another all-nighter on the two-wheeled buggy he'd started for Michaela. 

Warrick had brought home breakfast again, and while they were eating, asked if Nick's back was sore. Confused at first, Nick finally realized he'd been rolling his shoulders in an effort to work out some of the cricks that came from being hunched over the table all night. With a shrug, he'd admitted as much to Warrick.

That's how he wound up on his bed, on his stomach in just his shorts with a similarly dressed--or undressed--Warrick Brown straddling his hips and kneading every last bit of tension out of his back.

Life just didn't get any better.

"I should be doing this for you," Nick said, although it was a half-hearted statement at best. "You're the one who went to work."

"Yeah, but I'm just dusting for prints and collecting DNA. You've been building a chuckwagon."

After two days of it, Nick knew he should have been at least a little tired of such remarks but the only thing that really bothered him was--"It's not a chuckwagon, it's a buggy."

"Sorry."

It sounded like Warrick was smiling even as he apologized, so Nick turned his head to check and sure enough, Warrick was grinning down at him. "What is it with you?"

"Sorry," Warrick said again, leaning over to kiss the corner of Nick's mouth. "Am I being a jerk?"

What do you say when the guy asking you that is turning your muscles into mush? "Nah. I just don't see what the big deal is with this."

"I don't know," Warrick admitted, nuzzling into Nick's neck. "But you should see yourself when you talk about it. You're so damn cute."

"Warrick!" Nick complained--or tried to. It was difficult to sound annoyed when Warrick's beard was tickling his neck. Even tougher when Warrick was tracing the contours of his ear with a very agile tongue. "Is that supposed to relax me?"

"If it does, then I'm doing something wrong." Warrick's hands stopped kneading and began stroking Nick's sides.

He'd suspected all along when this was going to go--known where he wanted it to go, so Nick decided there was no point in waiting any longer. He stretched out one arm, but couldn't quite reach the drawer handle of the night stand.

"Whatcha lookin' for, Nicky?" Warrick purred.

"What do you think?"

Warrick ran his hand along the length of Nick's arm, then stretched a little further and opened the drawer. Reaching inside, he found the lube and fumbled a bit for a condom before dropping both on the bed. "That?"

"I think it'll come in handy."

"Probably."

Nick was glad Warrick didn't go into to the "are you sure?" spiel, but then, he was being pretty clear about what he wanted. 

Warrick shifted so he was sitting further down on Nick's legs and began pressing kisses along his spine. He got to the small of Nick's back and he licked a little trail downward, then blew across the damp skin.

Nick couldn't help moving restlessly, partly from the sensation, but also to accommodate his growing erection. When Warrick hooked his fingers into the waistband of his shorts, Nick lifted his hips to make it easier to remove them, his breath hitching when he felt Warrick's lips at the top of his cleft. "Rick..." he warned, panting, "Rick, you do...that and I won't be able to...to hold back...oh, _jeez_!" In response Warrick chuckled against his skin, and Nick squirmed desperately, "Warr-rriiick..." His voice was nearly a whine.

"Okay, baby." With one last kiss to each cheek, Warrick moved up again, stretching out alongside Nick. Stroking Nick's back with one hand, he managed to located the lube with the other. 

Nick began to turn onto his side, but Warrick pressed down slightly on his back, then bent so their lips could meet without Nick having to change position.

"That what you were looking for?" Warrick asked when the kiss ended.

"Uh-huh," was all Nick could manage as he sought Warrick's mouth again.

Warrick's hand was gone from his back, but Nick was too busy mapping the interior of Warrick's mouth with his tongue to notice. Nick didn't concern himself with that hand again until he felt slick fingers between his buttocks and then the only response he could manage was to moan into Warrick's mouth. Propping himself up on one elbow, Warrick worked two, then three fingers into Nick, all the while pressing kisses to whatever part of Nick's body he could reach.

Groaning, Nick raised his hips again to readjust himself, nearly dislodging Warrick's fingers in the process. He couldn't keep from giving his cock several strokes as he pushed harder against Warrick's hand.

"Gettin' a little carried away, Nicky?"

With another groan, Nick released his cock and fell flat onto the mattress again. "I...can't wait much--oh, god...much more..."

"Okay, baby, no more teasing."

Nick felt Warrick's fingers slide out, then felt the bed shift when Warrick removed his shorts. Grinding involuntarily against the bed, Nick drew in deep breaths and tried to hold still--he didn't want things over too soon. "Rick..." he moaned, pleading.

There was the sound of a wrapper tearing, and after a minute or two, Warrick's body covered his like a wonderfully warm, wonderfully heavy blanket. Warrick reached down to position himself, then entered Nick in a single, slow thrust, burying himself to the hilt and letting out a growl of pleasure that Nick echoed. "Nicky?" he murmured, pressing kisses against Nick's neck.

"Yes...god, Rick..."

Warrick began moving, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back as though they had all the time in the world. The slow pace was driving Nick crazy and he tried to raise himself onto his knees in an attempt to speed things up. Finally, it seemed, Warrick got the message and began moving faster. "Like that?" he rasped in Nick's ear.

"Like that..." Nick panted, eagerly following Warrick's rhythm. "Like that...oh, _god_ , Rick...like that..." His words came out in perfect time to Warrick's thrusts. He could feel Warrick's breath his neck and Warrick's teeth skimming his shoulder, nipping lightly.

It was the lightest of bites. The teeth didn't come close to breaking the skin. Not this time. But they had before, and they would again. He couldn't react, though. _Wouldn't_ react. Wouldn't let on they were hurting him. __

_Wouldn't give them that satisfaction._

Warrick didn't really notice when Nick suddenly went quiet beneath him, but would never forget what happened next. 

The first time Nick bucked wildly, Warrick thought he was just stepping things up a bit, but then Nick let out a hideous scream that froze his blood. "Nick--" he tried to pull out carefully, but didn't get the chance.

"No! Get off me!" Nick half-rose, roughly dislodging Warrick and letting out a pained cry. "Get _off_ me!"

Warrick scrambled to turn on the bedside lamp. Nick had his back pressed against the headboard, his eyes darting wildly as he tried to take in his surroundings. "Nick," Warrick said again, trying to get through to him verbally because he didn't know what would happen if he tried to touch the terrified man. "Nicky!"

Finally, the dark eyes focused and Warrick could see when Nick registered where he was.

"Nicky..." Warrick kept his voice low.

Nick shook his head violently. "Oh, no no nonono..." His eyes were squeezed shut. "I just...I just...oh, god!" He bolted off the bed, but stumbled, falling to his knees. Instead of trying to stand up again, he lunged across the room for the waste basket and threw up.

Warrick forced himself to move slowly instead of rushing for Nick the way he wanted to. "Nick, it's me," he said, crouching beside him and laying a careful hand on Nick's back. Nick didn't react, and Warrick doubted he'd even noticed anyone next to him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Nick pushed the can away, hanging his head.

"Nick," Warrick whispered again, because for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I have to..." The tremors in Nick's body were getting worse--his teeth began chattering. "I...I need to clean up...wash off..." Then he had to brace himself on the can as he retched several more times.

"What can I do, Nicky?"

"Nothing," Nick sounded distant. He got to his feet, but looked a bit shaky, so Warrick quickly stood as well. "Just let me...I have to..." He raised one hand as though to hold Warrick off and he walked unsteadily out of the bedroom and to the bathroom.

Warrick was at a complete loss. He had no doubt what Nick's flashback was about, but for all his questioning of Dr. Kane about it, still had no real idea how he should proceed. It didn't seem like a good idea to leave Nick alone right now, but on the other hand, he didn't want to risk Nick feeling crowded or even worse--trapped. 

Then Warrick recalled that although the shower panel had been repaired, the bathroom door had not. If he heard something wrong or thought Nick was in there too long, it would be easy to go to him.

Still a little stunned by the sudden, disastrous end to their lovemaking, Warrick decided to clean up and give Nick some time before checking on him. He doubted Nick would want to come out and see such blatant evidence of his breakdown, so after pulling on his jeans and a tee, Warrick got a large trash bag and put the entire waste basket inside. Damned if he was going to let Nick clean it out, and damned if _he_ was going to do it himself. After a quick search, he found the condom on the bed and tossed it in as well before tying the top of the bag and taking the whole thing straight outside. 

When Warrick walked back into the house, Nick was just leaving the bathroom, clutching his robe tightly around himself. "Finished?" he asked, a bit surprised to see Nick out so soon.

Nick met his eyes for a split-second before looking away. "I couldn't...I couldn't--it's where...it's when they..."

Warrick stepped closer, hand outstretched, but still unsure how much contact he should initiate. Had it been any other flashback, he wouldn't have hesitated to pull Nick into his arms, but he didn't want to risk anything that would make Nick uneasy.

"They--they..." Nick had his arms crossed, almost hugging himself. "It had been a w-week and I--I stank..." he cringed slightly at that. "So when Sampson...oh, god..." Nick's eyes widened and his arms tightened, as though he was literally trying to hold himself together. "Barrett Sampson..."

When Nick's knees buckled slightly, Warrick caught him without thinking about it.

Nick leaned heavily against him. "Barrett Sampson," he repeated, sounding like he was forcing himself to say the name. "He--he told them to give me a bath, so after he left, th-they--" 

Suddenly Nick stiffened and Warrick loosened his grip slightly.

Immediately, Nick broke from the embrace coming up against the wall with a soft thump and huddling against it. "They messed up...when they tried t-to take my clothes--off...my arms and legs were both untied at the same time...I made a run for it..." Nick fell silent, and when he spoke again, he voice was little more than a choke, "I wasn't even close. It was the only shot I had, but my legs had been tied s-so long...they wouldn't work properly..."

Warrick didn't know whether it would be worse if Nick had almost made it or that he didn't really have a chance. The idea of Nick making a valiant attempt even though he _knew_ it was useless brought a sharp pain to Warrick's chest.

"They t-tied me back up...used a knife to--to cut off my clothes...then they put--put me in the shower and I knew...I _knew_..." Nick curled in on himself, sliding down the wall.

Catching him around the waist before he'd gone very far, Warrick half-led, half-carried him to the couch.

Nick grabbed onto Warrick's arms and held on as if to ground himself. "That's the first time they...that they..." his voice trailed off into nothing. He twitched slightly, then let out several gasps, shaking his head slowly all the while.

Warrick got a glimpse of the dark eyes before Nick closed them and noticed they'd gone blank with terror once again. Another memory, or a flashback, or whatever anyone wanted to call it--Warrick could hardly stand that Nick had to endure it alone. Again. The only thing he could think to do was to say Nick's name over and over, hoping that it got through somehow.

It was impossible to tell the exact minute Nick returned to the present, but eventually he began speaking again. "That wasn't the first time...the shower wasn't the first time, it was just the first time they--before th-that...on the third or fourth day, I don't know..." Nick hunched his shoulders and drew his legs up, as though trying to make himself as small as possible. "Th-they held m-my mouth...open and--" he choked up, unable to continue.

Beyond caring whether it was the right thing or not, Warrick wrapped his arms around Nick's shaking body and pulled him as close as possible. Rage consumed him, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted Rauscher and Moutry still alive so he could devise and slow, excruciating deaths for both of them. He spared a moment to think of Sampson and hoped the son of a bitch was somewhere lying in his own shit and starving to death.

Moments later, he realized his fury was blinding him to how tightly he was clutching Nick. He was relieved to find that rather than being upset or unnerved, Nick was actually pressing in close although he was barely making a sound other than his hitched breathing and chattering teeth. Immediately, Warrick grabbed the blanket Nick kept at the end of the couch and wrapped it around him.

"They s-said I--I should be used to it...DA h-had told them that I was...I was..." 

Warrick added Michaels to the list of people he wanted revived and tortured. He was at a loss what to do for Nick--simply holding him didn't seem to be helping. If anything, Nick's shaking was increasing by increments. "Nicky, did Dr. Werne give you anything you could take?"

"L-Lorazepam."

"Where is it?"

"My w-w-wallet." Between his chattering teeth and tear-clogged throat, Nick's words were difficult to make out.

Warrick suspected one of the reasons Nick was keeping his answers short was to avoid having sobs overwhelm him. "Your pills are in your wallet?"

"Scrip. Never filled it."

Should he really be surprised by that? "Ah, hell, Nicky."

"S-Sorry," Nick huddled further under the blanket.

"No, baby. Don't apologize. It's okay. It's okay." Tentatively, he began stroking Nick's hair. "I just want to find a way to help you."

"Talk." Nick said without hesitation.

"Talk? What about?"

"Doesn't m-matter."

Although he didn't know what to make of the request, Warrick cast around for a subject. He blanked for a moment, discovering it wasn't as easy as it seemed to begin a one-sided conversation. After a brief hesitation, he started talking about work, even as he mind rushed ahead for another subject to use once he'd exhausted this one. 

If it was what Nick wanted, he would talk until his voice gave out.

* * *

It was late afternoon before Nick agreed to get his prescription filled. Although he had dutifully taken all the antibiotics his doctor had prescribed and had used painkillers when necessary, Warrick suspected just the name Lorazepam scared him a little--maybe more than a little. Nick seemed to think he ought to be able to just grit his teeth and get through it.

Warrick had to spend most of the day trying to talk him into it, and it wasn't until he threatened to call one of their co-workers to pick it up for him that Nick relented. Even if it was "for his own good," Warrick didn't like having to use such tactics with Nick. It felt too much like bullying and right now the idea of forcing Nick to do anything against his will--no matter the reason--made Warrick sick. So when Nick finally agreed to fill the prescription, Warrick didn't push him to take any.

There was one area that Warrick flat out refused to compromise on, and that was work. He wasn't going in no matter now often Nick insisted he'd be fine alone. Warrick left messages for both Grissom and Catherine saying only he wouldn't be in that night--they could make of it whatever they liked. 

If Nick felt like he needed time alone, Warrick told him, then Warrick would give him time alone, but under no circumstance was he going to leave him for eight or ten hours.

Other than those brief disagreements, Nick barely spoke for the rest of the day and didn't mention his memories again. He made another attempt to take a shower, and after giving him forty minutes, Warrick went into the bathroom and found Nick on the shower floor, hugging his knees to his chest. It looked as though he'd had another flashback, but Warrick couldn't get him to say one way or the other.

Warrick helped the shivering man out of the shower, dried him off and tucked him into bed. That it _had_ been a flashback was confirmed when Nick said in a hoarse, broken voice, "I'll take one now."

Warrick quickly got him the pills and a bottle of water. He didn't begrudge Nick the medication, but it frightened him that after resisting for so long, it had gotten so bad that Nick was willing to take the hated Lorazepam after all. Even worse, he knew Nick probably saw it as a failure.

Between the medication and sheer emotional exhaustion, it didn't take long for Nick to drop off. After some internal debate, Warrick stretched out next to him to catch some shut eye as well. He left some space between them instead of tucking Nick in as close as possible, not wanting to crowd him, but wanting to be nearby in case Nick needed reassurance. 

He considered going to his own room, but knew he'd be too worried about Nick to get any sleep. It took him a long time to fall asleep as it was, since he was continually turning over questions in his mind about what might happen now.

Finally, Warrick managed to doze for a few hours, and when he awoke, Nick was still dead to the world. He was curled up, facing away from Warrick, but his back was pressed against Warrick's side. Warrick merely noted these things in passing. None of them were as important as the peaceful expression on Nick's face. Whatever Nick felt about the medications, Warrick was glad to see the troubled man get at least a few hours' respite.

A glance at his watch told him shift started in half an hour, and Warrick decided to call in and give a better explanation than just his message. He chose to call Catherine rather than Grissom, since she knew about them and wouldn't ask quite as many questions. When she answered rather than her voice mail, Warrick didn't know whether he was relieved or not.

"Did you get my message?" he asked once greetings had been exchanged.

"Yeah. Is it you, or is Nick--?"

"Nick," Warrick said and was surprised when his throat closed abruptly. He had to clear it several times before he could continue. "He, uh...it's--umm..." He let out a frustrated sigh.

"He remembered," Catherine supplied quietly.

"Yeah," Warrick sighed again. "Not all of it--I don't think. I don't really know how much. He's had two--maybe three flashbacks since this morning."

"I was worried it might be something like that. How is he now?"

"Sleeping. Finally."

"Good."

"Cath, I can't leave him."

"I don't expect you to. Look, I've been preparing for this," she said, surprising him. "I can give you the next three days off, and after that we'll have to see about other arrangements."

Warrick felt at least part of the weight slide from his shoulders. "Thank you."

"Can I stop by after? Or maybe I should say--when could I stop by?"

"I...don't know when he's going to want to see anyone."

"Just leave me a message whenever he is ready for visitors."

"Okay." Something else occurred to him, "He was supposed to meet up with Greg today, could you tell him?"

"I will. And Sara?"

"Yeah," Warrick's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "He's going to hate the idea of any of you knowing about this, but--"

"I know. Will _you_ call? Let us know how you guys are doing?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, don't worry about work, I'll make sure it's covered."

Warrick thanked her again, although words seemed woefully inadequate considering all she was doing, considering the way he was practically abandoning his job. Extenuating circumstances or not, he was damn lucky he hadn't already been called on the carpet about his work performance. So far he'd been able to catch up easily enough and none of his cases had suffered, but eventually they would. The full-speed-or-dead-stop attitude he'd taken toward his job couldn't last forever, either Ecklie would have enough and demand a halt, or worse, he'd mess up on a case and lose his job entirely.

He didn't want that. His work was important to him and what he did was important. He didn't want to lose it. When he'd considered quitting before, he'd been half out of his mind at the possibility of losing Nick. If it came down to a choice between work and Nick, Warrick knew what his choice would ultimately be, but he didn't think it ever would--he hoped to God it never would.

Right now he just had to concentrate on getting Nick through the next few days. Maybe, if Nick would allow it, he could talk to Dr. Werne about the best way to help through it all.

* * *

Nick never expected the recovery of memories to turn his present into a blur.

It could have been the Lorazepam dulling his thoughts. Maybe he ought to look up some of the side effects. But later. Whenever. He didn't feel like doing much of anything. Didn't even feel like protesting any of Warrick's suggestions.

So he ate the food Warrick put in front of him without noticing what it was and he let Warrick drive him to his session with Dr. Werne without bothering to point out he'd always driven himself. He told Dr. Werne about the flashbacks--at least he assumed he did, the entire session was also a blur. 

It wasn't until Warrick mentioned that Greg was supposed to stop by that everything suddenly came into focus--into painfully sharp focus. Greg couldn't come over. If Greg came over he would know. He might even see Nick having a flashback. He would know all about it if he came over, therefore--"Greg can't come over here."

"I know," Warrick assured him. "Catherine is going to ask him not to."

"She can't," Nick protested stupidly. "How could she?"

"She offered," Warrick said, then added, "Nicky, when I called to say I wasn't going in to work last night, she knew why."

 _Of course._ Somehow he kept overlooking that. "Everybody knows about this," Nick tried to sound nonchalant about it, and knew it was for his own benefit rather than Warrick's. "Right. Everyone knows what happened to me. Everyone knew about it all along." He shrugged as though that could make it all not matter. If it didn't matter, then maybe his stomach would stop turning itself inside out.

"Cath asked if it would be okay for her to stop by and see you."

"None of this is okay. I don't want to see anyone. It's not okay."

"I'll tell her," Warrick assured him.

Nick doubted he was getting the point, though. "I don't want anyone to--if I see anyone, they'll ask...even if they don't ask, they'll look." _They'll watch_. Why did everyone always have to watch him, anyway? Nigel Crane watched him while he slept. His friends all watched him while he slowly suffocated. Those men...those men watched him all the time. Watched each other with him. Were _paid_ to watch him. "No. Just...just _no._ " 

"That's fine, Nick. I'll let everyone know."

"Everyone already knows."

"That you don't want to see anyone right now," Warrick clarified.

Nick knew he wasn't making much sense. He would have liked to blame it on the drug, but he'd only taken one and that had been more than twelve hours ago. "I'm gonna go to sleep," he said simply, but what he meant was that he was going to escape. At least for a little while. Sleep was still an escape and even though Nick doubted that would last very long, he was going to take advantage of it while he could.

"Do you want something to eat first? Maybe you should eat."

_Hey, Clayton, I think I heard his stomach growling._

_Hungry, pretty boy?_

"I'm not hungry," Nick insisted, the words coming out in a gasp.

"Okay," Warrick nodded, then shifted uncertainly. "Do you...should I go with you? Or I could come and check on you later--and if you want to be alone, just say so."

That almost seemed like too many options to process, especially with the memories of the "force feedings" still hovering. "Don't you have to go to work?"

"I have tonight and tomorrow off, too," Warrick said, then paused as though he expected Nick to object. 

Nick didn't have the wherewithal.

"So? It's your call, Nicky."

That didn't seem right. "Where do you want to sleep?"

Warrick hesitated, "Close to you."

Such honesty came as a bit of a surprise, and Nick felt a couple of the knots inside him loosen. "Sounds good to me." And it did. Almost. "But maybe not...not right--" Strange how difficult it was to say. 

"I've got a couple of things to take care of first," Warrick said.

Several more knots untangled themselves. "Okay." He started, then stopped, then started again and finally managed to move forward enough to give Warrick a brief kiss. His heart was pounding, but not in the way he'd grown used to around Warrick.

If Warrick found anything unusual about it, he didn't let on. He only smiled and gave Nick's hand a quick squeeze. "I'll be there in a little while."

Heartened by Warrick's easy understanding and the fact that he was able to skip the Lorazepam this time around, Nick got changed for bed. True, he didn't slide nude beneath the covers as he had been doing, or even just slip on a pair of boxers, but sleep pants and an old t-shirt weren't _that_ unusual for someone to wear. 

So that was okay. 

He was dealing.

He fell asleep easily, barely aware of Warrick joining him.

Sometime later, he felt Warrick's hand travel along the length of his body, sending pleasant shivers through him. Warrick's lips were on his ears and neck and although he couldn't make out Warrick's words, he knew they were warm and teasing. 

Warrick prepared him carefully until Nick was relaxed and ready, then entered him with a single, vicious thrust.

Nick let out a gasp. Not Warrick. Rauscher. It was Rauscher, destroying the temporary escape he had found. Instead of Warrick's velvety voice, Nick was bombarded with obscenities and insults, violating his mind as well as his body. Nick managed to choke back his cry of pain, then suddenly, miraculously, Rauscher stopped.

Nick kept as still as possible, hoping that if he did, Rauscher would leave him alone. As he buried his face in the sheets, Nick was suddenly struck by a sense of wrongness. It wasn't a scratchy bedspread under his cheek, but a soft pillow--one that still smelled slightly of lemon laundry detergent. Slowly he became aware of other scents, and the lack of certain smells. No stink of sweat, smoke and semen, but the faintly exotic scent of the cologne Warrick favored and a spicy musk that was just... _Warrick._

That finally gave Nick the nerve to move, and he turned his head, able to make out Warrick next to him despite the dim light. He blinked back tears of relief at the realization that _this_ was real. The dream had been part of the nightmare. Relief also that Warrick hadn't awakened. Warrick didn't need to babysit him through every bad dream--and there were bound to be plenty more.

He had broken out into a cold sweat, leaving his clothes damp and his skin clammy, so even though he dreaded doing it, Nick got out of bed and headed for the shower, stopping only to grab some clean clothes. 

Once he was under the hot spray, Nick found that as long as he didn't close his eyes for _too_ long, none of the bad memories were able to intrude. That was definitely worth a little soap in his eyes. Now he could do what he'd wanted since the first flashback--give every inch of his skin a thorough scrubbing.

Twenty minutes later, in clean dry pajamas, Nick felt worlds better and even an odd sense of accomplishment that he'd managed to get through it himself. 

Warrick was awake when he climbed back into bed. "You okay?"

"Yep." Without even thinking about it, Nick cuddled in as close as possible to Warrick.

After freezing for a split-second, Warrick wrapped his arm around Nick in a loose embrace.

It was wrong. _He'd_ been wrong. "No, I can't," Nick gasped and Warrick released him at once. "Sorry." _Dammit. He'd been doing just fine._ "I thought I was okay with it, but--" Nick squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's okay, Nicky," Warrick assured him.

_It's not. It's not, it's not. It's_ **_not_ ** _okay._

He felt Warrick's hand against his cheek. "I can go if you want." His voice was impossible gently.

"No," Nick gasped desperately. "I'm sorry."

"You got nothin' to be sorry for." Warrick shifted slightly, keeping a small distance between them. "How 'bout like this?" he asked, and Nick felt a hand begin stroking his hair. "Could you go to sleep like this?"

The touch was soothing, and Nick felt himself beginning to relax. "Yes," he whispered, searching for Warrick other hand to hold onto while he slipped into sleep again.

* * *

"Hey," Sara smiled when Greg joined her at the table in the break room. "Did you happen to see Warrick anywhere?"

"Nope," Greg peeked into the brown bag containing his lunch curiously, which he figured had to be a habit left over from school. He knew what was in the bag. He'd packed the damn thing himself. "Why?"

"I told him I'd grab lunch for him."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing," Sara admitted.

Greg shook his head as he unwrapped his sandwich. He seriously doubted that Warrick would be joining them for lunch. 

Warrick had returned to work several days before, after three days off, and was once again in his not-talking mode. Officially, Warrick had been off on sick leave, although his fellow graveyard CSIs knew the real reason and the rest of the night shift in the lab suspected. Anyone else would probably assume he _had_ been sick, because he returned to work with a drawn face and shadowed eyes, his normally fluid movement gone. 

Greg and Sara both knew about the flashback, Catherine had told them when she passed on the request that they not visit Nick until they were told it was okay. That wasn't good enough for Sara, especially when it came to someone she cared about. She didn't try to talk to Nick, but in her mind, Warrick was fair game and could be bombarded with questions if the chance presented itself.

That wasn't likely to happen as far as Greg could see. Warrick had been avoiding them, and Catherine seemed to be in his corner, giving him solo assignment or teaming up with him herself. 

Hence Sara's frustration and last-ditch attempt.

"He's not going to eat lunch with us if he can help it."

Sara gave him a questioning frown, tucking a few stray sprouts into her mouth.

"He knows we'll ask about Nick. No way does he want to talk about it."

"I really want to know how Nick's doing, though," Sara put down her veggie wrap. "I just wish I could see him."

"I know," Greg agreed. "But he doesn't want to see anyone right now."

"Are you sure? We didn't hear that from him."

Greg blinked, wondering if Sara realized how she sounded. "He's not being held prisoner. He knows how to get ahold of any of us if he wants to."

Sara pursed her lips in that faintly self-deprecating look she got whenever she missed the mark. "I know. I didn't mean--I'm just worried. Maybe I could--I just want to help," she finished with a sigh.

That was something Greg could sympathize with. "I know, but it's not going to do any good to hassle Warrick. What happened to Nick is really rough on him."

"It's rough on all of us," Sara countered.

"Yeah, but it's worse for Warrick, okay?"

Sara frowned for a moment, then nodded. "I know how close they are."

 _I don't think you do,_ Greg almost said. 

"You hang out with both of them quite a bit," Sara pointed out. "Maybe you could mention it to Warrick."

When had he suddenly become the goto guy to discuss touchy issues with Warrick Brown? That was not someone Greg wanted to be. He'd been pushing his luck lately as it was. Of course, a flat out 'no' would only make Sara suspicious. "I'll see if I get the chance," he said.

* * *

Nothing on the dining room table had been moved since the day before. Or the day before that. Or the day before _that_. 

During the first couple of days after the flashback, Nick had worked on the model buggy a little, but his attempts had been half-hearted at best, and he soon abandoned it all together. Warrick didn't mention putting anything away, hoping that if it was left out Nick would eventually start again.

It had been nearly two weeks since Nick remembered the motel room, but unlike that first day, he no longer wanted to talk about it. Warrick could only hope he was at least talking to Dr. Werne, and didn't press the subject.

After his first visit to Dr. Werne, Nick was shaky but Warrick could still sense some optimism in him--that this had been a hard blow, but Nick could still see his way back. Although he hadn't wanted to see anyone, Nick had still mentioned seeing them eventually, but that only lasted for a few days as well. He ate very little, slept a great deal, and once he was able to stay in the shower without a flashback, he began taking several a day. The most Warrick had counted was six.

Upon getting out of the shower, Nick would dress in layers of clothing--it reminded Warrick of the time shortly after Kelly Gordon's death when Nick favored long sleeves and thick fabrics. Like so many other things, though, that slowly changed until his layers of clothing became a robe over pajamas much of the time.

Concerned as he was, Warrick had fully intended to apply for a leave, but when he mentioned it, Nick was so upset, so indignant, that Warrick didn't know what to do. Finally, he broke down and called Anna Werne. After she established that he was asking for advice and not details about sessions, she was happy to help, telling Warrick it was probably better to acquiesce to Nick's wishes unless he felt Nick might be a danger to himself. She also advised him to tell Nick about the call to avoid any issues of mistrust. Warrick didn't much care for either suggestion, but couldn't ignore their validity. 

Nick was angry enough when Warrick told him about the call that Warrick hated to think what his reaction would have been had he found out from anyone else. He was somewhat placated when he heard that Warrick was returning to work after all, saying that it was about time people realized he didn't need a babysitter. Warrick still didn't like the idea, but couldn't honestly claim he feared Nick would do something to hurt himself. 

He'd been watching for signs, after all.

And although it was something Warrick hated admitting even to himself, some days it was a relief to go to work. Some days work was the only place he felt that he could relax. When he was with Nick, Warrick tried to remain as alert as possible to Nick's needs, knowing that Nick would never mention anything one way or the other.

Nick seemed to think it was a sign of weakness to either seek comfort or speak up when he was uncomfortable. Instead, he would try to endure until things got to be too much for him, so Warrick kept an eye out for those signs, too. Usually, Nick would huddle into himself when he craved physical comfort, while a sudden stillness meant Warrick needed to let go of him.

Motionlessness was also something Warrick had to deal with himself, often waking up sore from holding himself stiff while he slept. This was because an arm or leg flung over Nick in his sleep could prompt nightmares. Warrick had suggested returning to his own bed, and although Nick had agreed, he'd looked so devastated that Warrick had immediately backtracked. Instead, he learned not to move in his sleep.

Once he got the knack for that, more often than not he'd wake up to find Nick nestled close. After the first time that happened, Warrick abandoned all thought of sleeping anywhere except next to Nick.

At the moment, Nick was asleep _without_ Warrick next to him. There were only so many hours Warrick could sleep in a day, whereas the ideal eight was just a starting point for Nick these days. During those extra hours, Warrick sometimes ran errands or went to the gym, but more often than not, he read or worked on the sofa, one ear always tuned to catch the slightest sound of distress from Nick's bedroom.

When Nick's landline rang, Warrick ignored it. He always thought of it as _Nick's_ phone because he never really used the number himself. Usually, he gave out his cell number and for that matter, so did Nick. Calls on the landline went straight to the machine and that's what Warrick let happen now.

"Nick?" Jillian's voice came over the speaker. "Honey, it's Mom. Please pick up if you're there. Honey, your father is sorry about that message he left the other day. He was just upset. No one in the family has heard from you in weeks."

Warrick frowned at the phone. He'd been Nick's sole source of contact between their friends for the past two weeks, but he never dreamed Nick hadn't been in touch with his family the whole time.

"Nick, please. I'm sorry if you don't think we're handling this business with Warrick very well, but--"

Warrick didn't want to hear anymore. He knew Nick didn't feel that way, knew Nick was willing to give his parents a lot of time to adjust to the idea, especially since many of his siblings had already accepted it. Quickly he got off the sofa, unable to let Jillian worry herself like this anymore. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone. "Mrs. Stokes?" She had told him long ago to call her Jillian, but he wasn't sure that still applied.

"Warrick?" Jillian's voice went from coaxing to wary. "Is Nick there?"

"He's sleeping right now."

A pause, and then with the slightest edge, "Could you wake him? This is important. Everyone here is concerned."

"I don't think he'll come to the phone. He hasn't wanted to talk to anyone for nearly two weeks now."

"What?"

"He won't return calls from any of his friends here--I usually do that. I thought he would have left a message with you or something, but...he doesn't want to talk to anyone."

"Except you." A definite edge there.

"Mrs. Stokes--"

"Warrick, please, I have nothing against you personally, and I know--"

"Mrs. Stokes, he remembered the motel," Warrick spoke over her. "I think by now he's probably remembered most of it. He's...trying to deal with it."

"Oh, God..." It was barely more than a whisper. "I had no idea. I thought...my God..."

"He hasn't wanted to see anyone since he remembered, but I thought he would have left some sort of word with you..."

"He did, I suppose," Jillian sighed. "Just over...yes, it was nearly two weeks ago, he left a message at the house to say he wouldn't be in contact for a few days. But then a week passed and another..."

Warrick felt a rueful smile tug at his lips. "Knowing Nick, he probably figured he'd have dealt with it and put it behind him in a few days."

"But he hasn't."

"He sees Dr. Werne three times a week," Warrick said, not sure how much information he should be giving her. On one hand, this was Nick's _mother_ and Warrick knew she had to be worried sick, but on the other, _Nick_ should be the one talking about this. "He probably talks to her about it, but he's not ready to discuss it with anyone else."

"Well, could you get him to call us?"

"I'll tell him you called," Warrick promised. "And let him know how worried you are."

"When can I expect him to call back?" Jillian asked.

"Whenever he's ready, I guess."

"I'd like to talk to him today."

Warrick wasn't sure what to think of that. "I have no idea when he'll phone you."

"Couldn't you just--"

"Make him?" Warrick finished, certain that's what Jillian was about to say. Her sudden silence confirmed it. The decision to tread carefully around Nick's parents vanished under a surge of anger. "You think that's the way it works between Nick and me?"

"No," Jillian said hastily. "It's just--"

"I don't _make_ Nick do anything."

"Warrick, I didn't mean--"

Just a suddenly as it descended, Warrick anger disappeared again, leaving guilt in its wake. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "I know you're worried. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Jillian's tone was subdued.

Warrick hung up and wiped a hand down his face. Was there any way that could have been _more_ uncomfortable?

* * *

It felt like the first good news he'd had in months, even though he knew logically that wasn't true. When he got the letter for the release of information to be included in Dr. Werne's assessment, Nick signed it and sent it back to the Lab Director immediately. During his next appointment with Dr. Werne, it was the first thing he brought up and even her reminder that his return wouldn't be immediate failed to put him off. He would have happily talked about the prospect of going back to work for the entire session if she had allowed it.

She didn't, of course.

Eventually, as always, she began steering him toward more significant issues.

Nick mentioned a recent argument between he and Warrick and was surprised and relieved when she wanted to delve further into that. It was much easier to talk about that than his memories. The argument had been fairly straightforward in his mind, and he answered her questions without hesitation.

What had they argued about? The fact that Nick hadn't called his family since remembering the motel. And yeah, he was still a little ticked at Warrick about it.

Why? Because Warrick was making too much out of it.

How? Well, it had been just over two weeks since he'd last talked to them. A lot of people went for a lot longer without talking to their parents or family, so this wasn't _that_ big of a deal.

Had he called his parents since his argument with Warrick? No.

Why not?

Really, he should have known she'd find a way to bring up the very subject he hated the most. She always did.

Nick knew whenever they got anywhere near the subject of _that_ , he turned into a very difficult patient. He didn't mean to be. He wanted to work through everything and put it behind him so he could get on with his life. The problem came when Dr. Werne wanted to discuss how he felt about the rape--rape ** _s_** __. Just getting him to admit to that and stop treating the eight days as a single occurrence had taken several sessions, and although Dr. Werne thought such an admission was a major step for him, it didn't help him in discussing the feelings his days of captivity evoked.

 _Nauseous_ was still his standard answer, and in Nick's mind, still the most appropriate one. There were so many thoughts that wound through him at such times, so many emotions that fought against one another even as they fed off each other that it _did_ often leave him physically ill.

Nick knew he had to sort through that tangled mess. It was too dark, too dense to deal with in its entirety. Yet at the moment, it was almost preferable to the individual emotions, each of which were intensely painful in their own way.

The thing he discussed most often and always seemed to come back to was something Nick didn't even have a name for. The thing that made him cringe every time he thought about it was that so many people knew so much about what had happened to him. Dr. Werne assured him that it was a symptom of the problem as a whole, but thus far Nick hadn't been able to get past the mere idea of it.

He knew a lot of it had to do with privacy issues that went back to Nigel Crane and possible even before.

Dr. Werne had managed to get him to talk about his anger, his fears, even his shame, separating those individual emotions from that twisted mess for a time.

For a time.

Inevitably, though, they were woven back into the hideous snarl, tied together--as always--by a single notion that Nick _never_ discussed with Dr. Werne. Never even turned over in his own mind except at night when Warrick was at work and he had exhausted every other means of occupying his time. 

After he had tried and failed to work up the energy or the interest to get off his ass and do something--anything. After he had tried unsuccessfully to convince himself that _tomorrow_ he would pick up the phone and talk to someone other than Warrick. After he'd spent hours trying to sort though the rest of the tangle. _Then_ he would return to that single notion that he just couldn't bring himself to share with anyone.

For one thing, Dr. Werne would probably tell him he was being ridiculous--not in those words, of course, but in a reassuring clinical way that amounted to the same thing. For another, it felt too much like self-pity for him to ever voice.

As much as he hated thinking about it, though, he couldn't shake the question of whether his bad luck was simply _bad luck_ or something inherent within him that somehow brought out the predator in people.

That baby sitter, Dierdre something--to this day he didn't know her last name. Nigel Crane--instinct then and now told him the man's interest had been much further down on Maslow's hierarchy than Grissom claimed. Rauscher and Moutry--for them he had been a free-for-all. Even Craig, to a certain extent, had thought he could do what he liked and Nick would just take it.

Was he too friendly? Did he try too hard to be nice? 

Or maybe it was something he didn't even know he was giving off, something that signaled easy prey to those looking.

Nick knew that tendency toward self-blame was something the majority of rape victims suffered from. He _knew_ that. He just never thought he'd have to apply all those things he'd learned and studied in the course of his profession to himself. What's more, _knowing_ it was self-blame did absolutely nothing to help stop him from feeling it. 

It wasn't as though he deliberately went around trying to attract attention, physical or otherwise. He wasn't much of a flirt or any sort of a tease, really.

Except when he was walking around in a towel trying to make Warrick want him.

_Oh god._

"Nick?" Dr. Werne's voice brought him back to her office. "You've been quiet for a little while. Is it another memory?"

"Not really." What the hell kind of person was he to still deliberately provoke something like that after...yep. There was the nausea, right on cue. 

"Anything you'd like to share?"

"Not really," he said again. He looked at his watch. Their session was pretty much done, anyway. "Just some stuff...maybe once I've thought it out a little more."

A smile twitched, warming Dr. Werne's normally serene expression. "You do know that you don't have to prepare your thoughts in the form of a report before presenting them to me. Even if they're jumbled and don't make much sense, I can usually figure out what's going on. I'm trained for that."

Nick couldn't help smiling in return. It was a fairly common complaint from her, and had almost become something of a joke. "I'm trying. I don't think I'll ever get used to just spilling my guts. I'm not trained for that."

"Touché. Okay, our time is up for today. Maybe you'll be ready to tackle that next time."

"Maybe," Nick said, but knew he sounded doubtful.

"I'll see you Friday then," Dr. Werne said, rising and walking Nick to her office door. "By the way, how's the Lorazepam working for you?"

"Fine," Nick assured her.

"Hm. Well, we'll talk about that Friday."

Nick nodded and left the office. She was good at her job, no doubt about it, and sometimes that was a real pain.

He drove home and walked into the house to find Warrick on the phone. Warrick was facing away from him, so Nick couldn't see his expression, but it sounded like a pretty heated conversation. Nick took off his jacket and boots as quietly as possible, not sure whether he should alert Warrick to his presence.

"I told him that. Several times. Anything else is up to him."

Nick frowned. Did it make him paranoid if he assumed Warrick was talking about him?

"Your Honor, he's a grown man and it's not up to me to--well, you're not mine, so stop trying to tell _me_ what to do!"Warrick jerked the phone away from his ear and punched the off button.

Nick's jaw dropped. "Did you just hang up on my father?" he said, impressed even though he knew he should be worried.

Warrick spun around, "When did you come in?"

"Barely five minutes ago."

"Oh," Warrick sighed. "Yeah, it was your dad. Sorry."

"What happened?"

"He's ticked at me because he figured I hadn't passed on your mother's message. When I told him I had, he just got angrier."

"Hell," Nick felt about two feet tall. " _I'm_ sorry, Rick."

"No biggie," Warrick shrugged, but his expression was tight.

"He had no right. You shouldn't have to put up with that." Before he had time to actually think about what he was doing and chicken out, Nick took the phone from Warrick and punched in the code to return the last call. "What're you doin', Cisco?" he demanded when his father answered.

"Nick?"

 _Nick._ Not _Pancho._ That meant this probably wasn't going to go well. Nick was tempted to hang up then and there, but he couldn't let this pass. Warrick had already been picking up his slack when it came to their friends, Nick wasn't about to make him put up with his family as well. "Yeah, it's me. What are you hassling Warrick about?"

"Your mother spoke to him the other day. He said he'd tell you she'd called."

"He did. He told me when I woke up."

"You didn't call back," Cisco pointed out.

"I know that."

There was a slight pause and Nick knew that wasn't the reply his father had anticipated--probably had expected something a little more apologetic. "Well, now that I've got you on the phone, let me go get your mother."

"No, don't. I only called to tell you not to talk to Warrick like that, okay? He's not one of your staff."

"Excuse me?"

That tone from his father still managed to intimidate, but Nick refused to let himself back down. "If you're mad at me for not calling, don't take it out on him."

"Why haven't you called? Are you angry about something?"

"I am now," Nick snapped. "I haven't talked to anyone for the past few weeks, okay? I _still_ don't want to."

"We aren't _anyone_ , Nick."

Guilt overwhelmed him. "I know, but--I'll phone when I'm ready, okay?"

"Ready for what? I'll tell your mother I talked to you and that she can call tomorrow."

Nick felt helplessness beginning to overwhelm him and made a determined effort to push it back. He didn't know how to explain everything to his father, wasn't sure if the man would find it an acceptable reason in any case. Obviously, drastic measures were needed to get his point across. "Don't. Tell her I'll phone when I'm ready."

"Nicholas--"

"Don't make me change my phone numbers."

Dead silence. 

His knees felt like water. "I'm dealing with a lot of things, Dad. I'll call you guys when I'm ready."

Still nothing.

"Okay?"

"All right. I'll tell her."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye, Pancho."

Nick set the phone in its nest and leaned heavily on the counter.

"My hero," Warrick said, laying a hand on his back.

A shaky laugh escaped him. "I don't think a hero is supposed to be this wobbly."

"You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah, I did." Figuring his legs would hold him now, Nick pushed away from the counter and turned to face Warrick. "I know you been covering for me with everyone--"

"Nick," Warrick rubbed his arms soothingly.

"I know I should call people, but all I can do is wonder if they're gonna be thinking about...what happened when I talk to them and--look, I know other people have been assaulted and just go on with their lives while I've been--"

"Hey," Warrick gave him a gentle shake. "Hey, what you've survived...Nicky, there's no measuring that against anything else."

It was another thing that Nick knew--logically--but still couldn't bring himself to accept. He didn't want to be _that_ different from everyone else. He just wanted to be finished with it and go back to his life, even though he knew that wasn't possible, either. Wouldn't ever be possible. His head fell forward as it finally began to sink in that this was not going to change. No matter how hard he worked at it, he was never going to get back to where he was before walking into that crime scene, before going on that trash run.

Warrick tugged on his arms and Nick gladly moved into his embrace. "C'mon," he murmured against Nick's temple. "Let's go chill on the couch for a while, then we can order in for dinner."

That was undoubtedly the best thing Nick had heard all day.

* * *

"Dammit, Warrick!" Nick pushed away from him and moved to the other end of the couch.

With an aggravated sigh, Warrick let his head fall back until he was staring at the ceiling, unable to help reflecting on what a change this was from a week ago when they had lounged on the couch together for hours after Nick's argument with his father, caressing and kissing and just enjoying the feel of one another. Things had been very good for days afterward.

The next day, Nick had decided to call his mother after all, and it had gone fairly well. Nick's voice had quavered a few times, but he'd managed to keep up the conversation for a solid twenty minutes and convince his mother to let _him_ decide when they should talk again.

The day after that, he'd called Catherine, then Susannah; the day after _that_ , Greg and Sammie and so it went until he'd called most of his friends and family.

Nick's mood had improved, at least for a little while, and he began hinting at more than just affection from Warrick. Inevitably, he would move things along faster than he was ready for and end up having to break it off suddenly. 

Warrick knew Nick was thinking that he could just push past his fears as he had before, not taking into account that he hadn't recovered his worst memories then. Whenever he tried to point this out, to reassure Nick it was all right, Nick would usually get angry.

But then, it didn't take very much to make Nick angry these days.

And although Warrick knew why it was happening, it was also getting frustrating for him to continually start and stop, because no matter that he always told himself that things weren't likely to progress very far, his body had other ideas. He didn't want to say no when Nick initiated something, but every time he had to stop suddenly, irritation flashed through him. Every frisson of exasperation, every spark of anger at being put off, made him feel guilty.

In an effort to save himself the guilt and Nick the feeling of failure, Warrick began watching even more carefully for signs of trepidation from Nick and would slow down at the slightest hesitation from his lover.

Which brought them to today.

"Did it ever occur to you that I was just taking a breath?" Nick demanded.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you weren't. I know the difference."

"You don't know whether it was so bad I had to stop," Nick glared at him.

"No, I don't," Warrick agreed, and that made him angry as well. "How would I? You never tell me where the hell you're at."

"Since when do you need a play-by-play?"

Things were going to get out of hand any minute, and Warrick tried to calm down. "Nick, I just don't like it getting to the point where you--"

"Freak out?" Nick supplied with a sneer that could have been meant for Warrick or himself.

Warrick didn't know what to say to that.

"I'm going for a walk," Nick growled under his breath.

Instead of trying to stop him, Warrick just waited for the door to slam before letting out another sigh. At least Nick was getting out of the house more. Too bad it was usually because he'd stormed out after one of the arguments that sprang up so easily between them right now.

Nick didn't return until just before Warrick had to go in to work. They didn't speak, instead exchanging several soft kisses that said everything they wanted to and was preferable for both of them.

As he drove to the lab, Warrick tried to think of some way he and Nick could work through this problem. Thus far, none of the arguments had been too major or lasted very long, but eventually they would start taking their toll. 

Work that night wasn't too crazy--for Vegas--but it was steady enough that Warrick ended up working several hours overtime. He wasn't too surprised to find Nick asleep when he returned home, or to find that Nick had left breakfast and coffee for him. 

He ate on the couch, since the table was still covered with modeling supplies. Although he didn't know Nick's reason for leaving them out, Warrick hadn't given up hope that he might return to the project and couldn't help reflecting on how animated Nick had been whenever he talked about it.

His meal finished, Warrick took a quick shower before climbing into bed next to Nick. 

Stirring, Nick mumbled a drowsy, "Hey," and turned toward him.

"Hey."

"I'm sorry about before."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for."

Nick shifted, propping himself up slightly. "I want to get past this, Warrick. I want to be able to give you what you want."

Warrick was about to say he had everything he wanted, even though he knew Nick wouldn't believe him, when another idea occurred to him. One that heated the blood in his veins. "You know what might work?"

"What?"

"Maybe if you fucked me."

" _What_?"

"I said--"

"I know what you said," Nick snapped. "You think that's gonna fix everything?"

That wasn't the reaction Warrick expected. Actually, he wasn't sure _what_ sort of reaction he'd expected, but it hadn't been anger. On second thought, maybe it should have been. "I know there's no way to fix everything. I just thought--" he shrugged, since he wasn't sure what he'd thought.

Nick didn't speak, but sat up, his jerky movements an indication of just how irritated he was.

Warrick couldn't help feeling some disappointment that Nick didn't even show the slightest interest. "Look, I just thought it might be easier for you if you knew that's where things were going." When Nick remained silent, he pressed on, "We would have gotten around to it eventually, right?"

"Really?"

Warrick could practically feel the emotions vibrating through Nick, but wasn't able to identify them. "I always figured we would."

"And this is what you want."

Something in Nick's tone immediately put Warrick on his guard and he pushed himself into a sitting position as well. "Nicky, if you don't want to, it's no big deal." Except that now the idea of having Nick inside him, along with the tension thrumming through the air, meant that if nothing happened he was going to need another shower. A cold one.

But then Nick slowly moved until he was straddling Warrick's legs and sitting on his thighs. There was such a deliberateness to it that Warrick hardly dared to breathe and other than bracing himself on his hands, didn't move, either. It was possible Nick was uncertain and being cautious, but that definitely wasn't the vibe Warrick was getting from him.

"You sure this is what you want, Rick?"

It sounded like Nick and yet...didn't. Warrick hesitated.

"Rick?"

"Yes," Warrick gasped and was rewarded by Nick's mouth coming down on his. When he felt Nick's lips moving down to his neck, he let his head fall back, wishing he'd suggested this a long time ago.

Nick's hands were on his chest and ribs. Nick's fingers were tweaking his nipples. Warrick was tempted to reach out and pull Nick closer, to get rid of the pajamas Nick was still wearing, but he didn't want to do anything that might throw Nick off. No, he definitely didn't want to throw Nick off when Nick's hands and mouth were setting every inch of his skin on fire.

There was no hesitation on Nick's part as he leaned closer and Warrick readily slumped down until he was resting on his elbows. Except for their rapid breathing, there was no sound in the room, which was unusual for them. It somehow made everything a bit surreal, but it did nothing to dampen Warrick's libido. 

Or Nick's, apparently. He gave Warrick a slight shove to push him flat on his back, but instead of following, scooted further down Warrick's legs, tugging Warrick's boxers off as he went.

Warrick tensed, biting back a groan when he felt Nick's breath on his cock and could barely stifle a whimper when Nick left the bed. He was about to ask what was going on but then saw Nick quickly stripping off his pajamas. When Nick climbed back on top of him, Warrick was unable to hold back any longer and let out a moan at the complete skin-to-skin contact. He could barely believe they had arrived at this point so quickly after weeks of not getting anywhere, but Nick was like a man on a mission.

Finally, Warrick couldn't take it anymore. He had to touch, to hold, but his fingertips had barely made contact with that warm skin when Nick grasped his wrist, stopping him. Warrick took the hint, fisting his hands in the sheets instead. If that was the way Nick wanted things, it was fine by him, just as long as Nick didn't stop moving on top of him like that.

After another few minutes of writhing under Nick's ministrations, Warrick began to wonder if Nick was even enjoying himself. What he'd thought of as sensual deliberateness could also be robotic determination. "Nick," he started to push himself back up into a sitting position. "Nicky--"

Any other words were swallowed in another kiss, then Nick broke off to press his lips to Warrick's cheek. "I need you to turn over," Nick's voice was raspy.

It was almost-- _almost_ \--as though Nick was some stranger, but it wasn't unnerving enough to turn Warrick off. If he only knew for sure that Nick was enjoying this, he could really get into it. He did as Nick asked, flipping over onto his stomach, pausing only to adjust his himself.

"You sure about this?"

That sounded even less like Nick and for a moment, Warrick was tempted to say no, but then a hand trailed along his spine and down to his ass and Warrick would have agreed to anything Nick suggested. "Hell, yeah, I'm sure," he said, getting onto his hands and knees.

Nick didn't waste any time, he opened the night stand drawer and took out what they needed.

Warrick knew he should be a little concerned about the situation, maybe even worried. He knew he should say something, should at least tell Nick to go slowly. Even though this certainly wasn't his first time, it had been a while. He remained silent, though, waiting to see if it was even necessary.

The first finger, well-slicked, went in with no problem. When Nick added a second, Warrick bent lower, resting his head on his forearms and making his body relax.

Normally, he would have thought Nick would keep up a steady stream of words, but that wasn't something this stranger-Nick did. Still, the time and care being taken to prepare him well, enough that the third finger was not a problem--that was all Nick.

Hearing the condom package being opened, Warrick took a deep breath and held it until he felt the head of Nick's cock nudging his entrance, then he exhaled slowly as Nick slid inside. 

Nick let out a string of curses as he buried himself to the hilt and Warrick reveled in the burn that barely lasted long enough to register. He moaned incoherently as Nick began to move with that same deliberateness he'd been using all along. "Oh God..." and unlike the curses, _that_ choked voice was Nick as well.

Warrick knew Nick was giving him plenty of time to adjust, but he was more than ready. In order to get his point across, he began to raise himself on his arms again, but barely got halfway up before Nick shoved his face back into the pillow.

"Stay down," Nick growled. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He picked up the pace and Warrick eagerly moved in time with the hard rhythm.

It wasn't anything like he'd imagined it would be with Nick, but damn, he could really get into this.

"This is what you wanted, huh, Rick?" Nick grunted in time with his thrusts. "You wanted to be my bitch?"

Days later, Warrick would hate himself for getting so completely lost in his own pleasure that he stopped worrying about Nick. At the moment, though, he just assumed Nick had to be enjoying himself, because God knew he was giving one hell of a ride.

With Nick pounding against his prostate the way he was, Warrick barely had to touch his own leaking cock before he was coming so hard everything went black except for the stars exploding behind his eyes. He was vaguely aware of Nick's own cry of release.

He collapsed on the bed. The only intrusion into his blissful haze was when Nick pulled out, prompting a hiss of discomfort. His eyes closed, Warrick listened as Nick flopped down beside him, then let himself drift for a while before reaching out. His hand fell on Nick's arm which tensed briefly, but then gradually relaxed as he stroked his thumb along the skin. With a sigh, Warrick allowed himself to float off to sleep.

Warrick didn't know how long he slept, but when he awoke, he was alone in the bed.

"Nick?" Warrick sat up, grimacing slightly as he did. It wasn't so much at the twinge in his lower body--that was like a pleasant reminder of a good workout--but at the cold, clammy patches on the sheets. Usually one of them cleaned up a bit afterward, but he had been too out of it and supposed Nick had, too. It gave a whole new meaning to _rode hard and put away wet._ "Nick?"

When there was still no answer, Warrick got out of bed and quickly pulled on boxers and his robe before going in search of the Texan. The bathroom was dark, and a quick look in his bedroom proved it to be empty.

Turning to the living room, he immediately saw Nick on the couch. For a split-second he nearly called for Nick to come back to bed, but then Nick's posture really registered with him. Nick was fully dressed again--pajamas, robes, even socks, but was huddled at one end of the couch as though he was freezing. It was so completely at odds with the late afternoon sun that filled the house that Warrick felt chilled as well.

"Nick." As he moved closer, Warrick could see tear tracks on Nick's cheeks and his heart stuttered. Although Nick had choked up several times, up until this point in his recovery, he'd never been reduced to actual tears. "Nicky..." This wasn't the hysterical crying that had been a natural outlet after hours of fear and pain and near-suffocation--Nick wasn't making a sound, he was just sitting silently as tears trailed down his cheeks. Something about it made Warrick approach him slowly, carefully, "Baby, what is it?"

Nick's only reply was to close his eyes.

Warrick didn't sit as close as he wanted to, but close enough to touch if it seemed like a good idea. "Was it a flashback?"

"I wish."

A horrible feeling began churning again in the pit of Warrick's stomach. "Nick, I thought...I thought it would be a way to--"

"I know."

"What...went wrong?"

"I did."

Rarely had Warrick felt so utterly clueless. He still couldn't get his head wrapped around how or when exactly things had derailed. Even worse was the complete lack of inflection in Nick's voice and of expression on Nick's face--both were much more frightening than his tears. "Why...you didn't do anything wrong."

Nick didn't answer, but his brow wrinkled slightly.

Warrick recognized his disbelief and was relieved to know at least a _little_ of what was going on in Nick's head at the moment. "Nick...okay, you got a little carried away, but you didn't--you didn't hurt me. Is that what you were worried about?"

"Yes...no. I don't know." Nick still hadn't raised his eyes from the couch cushion.

"I mean, it...wasn't what I expected from you, but--" Warrick stopped there. The last thing he wanted to say now was that he'd enjoyed it when Nick so obviously hadn't. "--it wasn't anything bad," he finished lamely.

"And if it had been? What if you had wanted me to stop?"

"Nicky, it's okay. I didn't want you to stop."

"That's not the point," Nick gritted out.

Warrick tried not to let that familiar feeling of frustration overwhelm him. He _knew_ that wasn't really the point--he just wished it was because it would have been so much easier to deal with.

"If...if you had wanted me to stop..." Nick's voice hitched. "I'm not sure I would have."

The words "of course you would have" almost escaped, but Warrick managed to censor them, knowing Nick would dismiss a blanket statement. Instead, he went with, "I never worried about that, Nicky."

"You didn't worry because you didn't think I would have or because you think you would have been able to stop me?"

All sorts of alarm bells started going off, and Warrick knew he had to tread very carefully. Instinct told him the question had little to do with what had just happened between them. "I just don't think it's in you to do that to someone."

"At one time I thought so, too, but now..." Nick raised his eyes, but only to fasten them on a point past Warrick's shoulder. 

Warrick didn't know what Nick was seeing but knew it wasn't the framed photos on the wall. "Nick, you're still _you_."

Nick shook his head slowly. "I don't think I am. Not anymore."

 _No. No no no_ ** _no_**. Warrick grabbed Nick by the shoulders, pure fear making him abandon his usual caution about how he touched Nick, and pulled him until they were nose to nose. "Nicky, _no one_ is taking you away from me again. Not even you."

Nick finally met his eyes, looking at him with such desperation that Warrick's throat closed and he couldn't have said any more even if there was anything else to say. He just gathered Nick in as close as he possibly could and held on tight.

Almost as tightly as Nick was hanging onto him. 

Warrick had no idea how long they sat in silence, before Nick said, "Tell me again."

Even though he wasn't sure what Nick was asking for, Warrick felt a surge of relief that Nick was asking at all--it meant he hadn't given up entirely. "Tell you what, Nicky? That I don't believe for a minute that a couple of punks can change who you are at your core? Okay--I don't believe it. Not unless you let them. You're too strong for that, Nicky. I know you are."

"They already have, Warrick."

"No. No way." 

Nick didn't refute his words, but Warrick could tell he wasn't getting through.

"You didn't have a choice before, but now you do. Don't let them win." Warrick wasn't sure what he was saying anymore, but he felt the need to keep talking. He couldn't stand to hear that defeated tone in Nick's voice. "Yeah, you're different now. Hell, I'm different now, too, but I'm still me. And you're still you--you got me? Who else could you be?"

A shudder went through Nick's body, "I'm tired of feeling like a victim. I won't let myself be a victim anymore."

That's when Warrick caught on. "And you think by trying to not be their victim, you're turning out like them instead? Is that what you're worried about?" He searched for the right words, and oddly enough, his mind went back to the job. What Nick needed right now was proof. Hard, brutal, irrefutable evidence. "Tell me what you saw them doing, Nick. Did you see them worrying about whether or not they hurt you afterward?"

"Warrick--" Nick sounded more shocked that Warrick was bringing it up than upset by the reminder.

"Did they make themselves sick over the possibility of inflicting pain? Did they?"

"No."

"You'll never be like them, Nicky. That worry shouldn't even be on your radar."

"I won't be a victim."

"It's not like you only have two options. And if you let yourself go too far one way or the other, then no--that wouldn't be you. And then they win." Warrick had no idea if his words were making any sense whatsoever--he barely understood them himself. 

Oddly enough, Nick did, but he didn't seem to find them comforting. "And you don't think that's already happened? They made me crawl so deep inside my own head that I didn't know who I was and you don't think they've already won? I'm so goddamned messed up that I'm someone else entirely!"

"That's not true," Warrick insisted.

"Stop saying that!" Nick pulled away to glare at him. "You don't know! Whoever I was before is _gone_."

"Nope. Still there." Strangely, the more he said it, the more certain Warrick was of the fact.

"How can you be so sure?" Nick challenged.

"Because I could never be this crazy about anyone _but_ you." And Jesus, that was a lot scarier to say than he ever imagined it would be. Especially in the face of the deafening silence that fell.

Finally, Nick spoke. "Well, that's not a fair argument."

Warrick let out a near-hysterical laugh. He knew that tone, but hadn't heard it in ages. It was Nick disgruntled because he was unable to think of a suitable comeback. Nick grudgingly conceding a point. He looked into the dark eyes, still wounded, still haunted, but no longer half-wild, half-hollow with pain and despair. "Don't you believe me, Nicky?"

"I believe you," Nick whispered, moving into the embrace again.

Just before Nick's head dipped to tuck into the crook of his neck, Warrick saw something else in those dark eyes.

Hope.

* * *

One way or another, Nick always associated Warrick's voice with warmth, although the degree could vary, depending on what he said and how he said it. There was the flush of embarrassment that came more often than he would have liked in the face of Warrick's teasing, the fever of competition, the occasional blaze of anger, and the most recent addition--that of fiery lust, but this was the best kind of warmth. This was a steady, unceasing glow that seeped into his bones, banishing the cold and darkness brought on by memories of a motel room.

It was ironic that thoughts of the motel room inevitably left him freezing, considering that the room had always been stuffy, sweaty and stifling.

For over an hour, Nick stayed on the couch, soaking up heat from Warrick's body and voice, but eventually a glance at the clock told him they'd have to move soon. "We should probably order in for supper, unless you actually want to try cooking something."

"Picture that," Warrick snorted. "What do you feel like?"

The thought of food made his stomach churn at the moment. "I'm not hungry. Just order for yourself, unless you just want to grab something on your way to work."

"I'm not going to work tonight."

Nick wasn't surprised to hear that, but he wasn't happy about it either. "Don't, Rick. You've already missed way too much work because of me."

"Don't worry about it."

Not much chance of that. "Warrick, there's no reason for you call in."

"Are you kidding me?"

Nick wondered if Warrick realized that staying would negate everything he had just said. "Rick, either you think I can handle this or you don't." He held up a hand when Warrick opened his mouth, "And before you tell me again that I don't have to handle this alone, _I know that_. But I also can't have you holding my hand the whole way through. Either you meant what you said to me and there's no reason for you to stay, or you really _don't_ think I can come back from this and you were just humoring me."

"Nick--"

"Tell me honestly, Rick. Do you think I need a suicide watch? Do you think I'm cowardly enough to do something like that?"

Warrick sighed, and Nick suspected it was because he was running out of reasons, "No. I know you wouldn't."

"Then go to work. We have phones. I know where you are. You know where I am. It's not like either of us are going to be unreachable."

They argued about it a bit more, but Nick felt he couldn't back down on this point. Even though they had more or less talked themselves in circles about his reaction, about his fears, the thing had stood out the most to Nick was Warrick's unwavering belief that he could get through this--that he _would_ get through this. It was easy enough to believe with Warrick right there beside him saying everything he needed to hear, but Nick knew he needed to be able to believe it without Warrick _making_ him believe. 

He had to prove to himself that even after the worst he thought could happen, after wandering though his darkest fears and emotions, guided only by the pull of Warrick's voice, he could maintain his place alone. To prove that he could hold off that ever-encroaching forest of shadow and doubt all by himself. On the other hand, he would feel better doing all that tonight instead of days later. Tonight, when he still had the warmth of Warrick's fierce belief to sustain him.

Eventually, he did win the argument and Warrick went to work, although Warrick waited until the last possible minute to leave.

It only took about a half-hour for Nick to begin regretting his decision.

He hadn't imagined it would be this difficult to keep his mind from traveling down that dangerous path where he'd been before. Back to that frightening place where the only choices he could see were victim or victimizer, and that terrifying idea that being the victimizer might be preferable. The thought of doing to someone else even a fraction of what had been done to him was loathsome, yet people obviously got used to doing such things, perhaps he would too. And _that_ thought only inspired greater horror. The real question was whether hating himself for doing it would be better than these constant feelings of weakness and helplessness.

Finally, Nick got his laptop out, booting it up before settling back on the couch with it. If he was still stuck keeping a diary, or a journal, or whatever anyone wanted to call it, he might as well keep the proper, all-encompassing one that Dr. Werne had originally wanted. The "dream-journal" had been the result of much heel-digging from Nick and several concessions from the doctor.

Nick had never though of himself as any more or less introspective than the average person, but lately he felt like he'd been living almost entirely inside his own head. For all that he was considered more emotionally-driven than most of his colleagues, he was still a scientist. He could deal with _maybes_ or _possiblys_ or _could-bes_ when they were part of a theory he could test with an experiment, but not when it came to his state of mind and definitely not when it came to his future.

He wasn't able to do it before, but now that the majority of his memories had returned, he needed to return to his usual mind set and tackle these problems in a more effective way. 

_Line 'em up, knock 'em down and put 'em away._

Taking a deep breath, he started to type.

* * *

It took a lot to surprise Dr. Anna Werne. That was one of the first things Nick discovered about her and he suspected she prided herself on her ability to remain serene no matter what her patients might reveal. A large part of it was that she was good enough at what she did that she could anticipate certain things about her patients. Nick had quickly come to rely on that unflappable, unshockable calm.

That didn't mean he didn't enjoy rendering her speechless--at least for a moment--when he handed her eight pages. The most he'd ever brought in for his "dream journal" was three and that was after having skipped a session. 

She recovered quickly, though, and was pleased with what she saw. "So you decided to go with an actual report after all."

Nick grinned, "It was easier than trying to remember what needed to be brought up in a session."

Dr. Werne flipped through them, "These are actually more like notes than a report or journal, but they're still--you've got things referenced. And categorized as though--there's an equation." She looked at him in bemusement.

"Yeah, I was just messing around."

Her eyes darted back down briefly. "There's more than one."

"Yeah, well..." he shrugged and barely managed to keep from rubbing the back of his neck.

With a hint of a smile, she went back to the beginning and looked through them again, nodding all the while. She read aloud all the things Nick had never spoken of during their sessions, telling him which ones she'd anticipated and noting those she hadn't realized.

Nick was ready to dive right in and get to work, but Dr. Werne was more interested in what had led up to the eight pages, and they spent most of the session discussing that.

They didn't dive in during the next session, either. In fact, they didn't dive in at all. Instead, the pace of their sessions remained the same, with Dr. Werne usually putting the brakes on whenever Nick tried to plow through his issues.

It was just over a week before Nick realized why she insisted on maintaining that same pace. Just over a week for the exhilaration of approaching things differently and discussing things he hadn't before to evaporate. Just over a week during which he met Catherine and Lindsey twice; went out for dinner and a movie with Greg, then Sara; had coffee with Grissom; went out to Warrick's favorite jazz club with him; had breakfast with the lab techs; and spoke to his family nearly every day. That was how long it took for it to really sink in that nothing had actually changed.

Nick didn't even realize he'd _expected_ things to change until Dr. Werne asked him about it and he found that on some level he _had_ expected everything to go away if he worked hard enough. It was a ridiculous notion, and Nick _knew_ that. Yet there was still a sense of disappointment--even anger--that despite his best efforts, it was still there. He had been held prisoner, raped and tortured for ten days, and that was never going to go away.

Dr. Werne called it a bargaining tactic, which Nick always thought was a stage of grief. It was, she said, but it applied in other situations as well. She asked if he felt cheated that despite his hard work and effort, what happened to him still remained. Nick reluctantly admitted that he did feel cheated and felt stupid for feeling cheated. 

A classic reaction, she assured him.

Nick wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved that his behavior was considered "textbook."

Before long, though, that stopped mattering very much, as did everything else. The depression that Nick thought he had shaken off returned full force and this time with the added knowledge that he was never going to get back to where he was before he woke up in that motel room.

Dr. Werne had obviously been expecting the relapse, because _that's_ when she decided to begin tackling things in the "report" Nick now regarded as useless. She reminded him over and over that even if it wasn't the turning point he'd thought it should be, it was still a major step.

Nick believed her, but that didn't stop him from cancelling most of the plans he'd made during his fit of optimism. His friends were puzzled, but respectful. His family was worried, but didn't object when told that phone calls would probably be infrequent again.

And Warrick...Warrick was trying. Most of the time he was successful, but Nick knew it had to be difficult for him to constantly readapt. One day Nick was happy to go out for dinner or willing for a little fooling around and the next he couldn't be bothered to get out of bed.

Not that he ever had to worry about Warrick getting tired of it and leaving. Nick never worried much on that point, knowing Warrick would never think of deserting him while he was in need. What he _did_ worry about was Warrick getting the short end of the deal. In the past few days it had crossed Nick's mind that he should break up with Warrick and spare him all this, but he never considered it for very long. Not only was it the last thing he wanted, but he knew that even if he did call it quits, Warrick would stay anyway, under the claim of friendship.

Besides, lately, Warrick seemed much less edgy. No doubt due in large part to the fact that Nick was no longer very interested in pushing and testing the limits of their physical relationship and in turn, Warrick didn't have that constant frustration to deal with.

It wasn't so much fear on Nick's part as disinterest--the same disinterest he felt for most things around him. Most it was just kissing and cuddling with some making out--the occasional hand job was about as much as he felt like doing these days, but Warrick appeared to be perfectly happy with that. Actually, Warrick seemed most happy that Nick no longer had any problem with being touched. At least Nick assumed he was happy about it since he was touching Nick as much as possible. 

And Nick definitely did not have a problem with that. Lately, the only time he felt truly content was when he woke with Warrick wrapped around him or vice versa. 

As days passed, though, the times when his dull mood would lift for a few days became more frequent, and during those times, Nick tried to get out with his friends as much as possible. He still hadn't returned to Michaela's model and passed time at home sleeping or in front of the television. Reading was something he'd abandoned as well--like the model, the idea of taking on an entire book just seemed like too much of an effort.

The one thing Nick made the most determined effort to resume was working out. He hadn't been to the gym since first sinking into his depression, which was the longest he'd been without a regular exercise routine since tenth grade. It wasn't as though he'd gained much weight--he hadn't been eating much during that time, either, but there were other factors to consider. Even without discussing it with Dr. Werne, Nick knew that regular exercise improved a person's mood, but until she pointed it out, he hadn't thought about how much worse it might be for someone as dedicated to keeping in shape as he had been.

His first workout had been a week after handing in his eight-page report, and even though he'd kept it light--by his standards--his muscles were screaming at him the next day. He kept at it, though, and after nearly two weeks, he was getting closer to his old workout routine. His depression hadn't lifted as much as he'd hoped, but Dr. Werne told him to be patient.

His gym was a 24-hour one, but Nick soon found that if he went just before sunrise, it was nearly empty. People coming in before their 9-to-5 jobs hadn't arrived yet, and the night owls had already been and gone. It also gave him plenty of time to get home, shower and even take a quick nap before Warrick got home from work--he wasn't sleeping as much as he used to, but still easily put in over ten hours a day.

He was just settling in for a quick nap after his latest workout when the phone rang. It was Warrick calling to say that they were in the middle of a hot case, and he was putting in some overtime. Nick assured Warrick he was fine and wished him luck with the case. After he hung up, he stretched out on the sofa, turning the television to ESPN. Warrick felt more comfortable working overtime and doubles now and that was something of a relief for Nick, since he'd always felt guilty about affecting Warrick's job. His only real problem was that it constantly reminded him how much he missed work.

ESPN didn't hold his attention very long, and Nick dozed again until he heard his mail being dropped off. Stretching and scrubbing at his hair, he wandered out to get it. 

Immediately, a large envelope addressed to him from the crime lab caught his eyes. It was fairly thick, and Nick rolled his eyes as he opened it. More of those endless insurance forms, no doubt. He read over the letter that came with it, then frowned and read it again to make sure he wasn't misinterpreting the words. Disbelief mingled with anger as he flipped through the rest of the contents.

He had scrabbled the papers back into the envelope and was opening his truck door before common sense intervened. Forcing himself to take several deep breaths, he returned to the house. Rushing off half-cocked and demanding answers--especially in his grungy old sweats--was only going to make the situation worse.

Nick read the letter once more to be absolutely certain, then picked up the phone.

* * *

Greg initialed the last seal, packed away the box of evidence and set off in search of the other members of the graveyard shift still in the lab. He, Warrick, Archie and Hodges had all put in overtime working the kidnaping, but with the victim now safe and sound, instead of being tired, Greg was hoping to talk at least some of his co-workers into a celebratory breakfast beer or two. He didn't see Archie anywhere, but both Warrick and Hodges were in the locker room. "Hey," he said as he joined them. "Anyone up for breakfast?" 

Before anyone could answer, Warrick's phone rang. He glanced at the display and answered it. "Hey. I was just finishing--what? Whoa," he frowned. "What? Okay, wait....wait. Nicky, slow down. What?"

Unease immediately enveloped Greg, as it always did at the first sign of trouble for Nick. He glanced over at Hodges and saw the trace tech was also watching Warrick--if he didn't know better, Greg would say the guy actually looked concerned.

"What the hell are you--Ecklie? I didn't see him. I think he's on swing hours right now....Director? You mean Lambert? Of course he's not here. You know he barely uses this office, he's always at the one in--I don't know if he's there. He's always out of town....Nick, stop. A lawyer? Why--what kind of package?"

Greg felt his stomach begin to twist slightly. "Oh, fuck," he heard Hodges mutter.

"Well, I guess they think you might want to--what? Are you sure--well, they can't do that, Nicky....Just wait and talk to Ecklie first, and Grissom--is Grissom's name on..? No, I didn't think so either, but--okay, I'm on my way home now. Calm down, okay? You've got rights. They can't just do something like this."

Suddenly chilled, Greg he looked at Hodges, expecting to see a smug expression, but instead he only saw cold anger.

"Okay? Yeah. Don't worry about it, there's no way, okay?...Yeah, I'm on my way." Warrick snapped his phone shut.

He didn't really want to know, but Greg still felt compelled to ask. "What's going on? Is Nick okay?"

"Yeah...no..." Warrick pulled his jacket out of his locker. "I don't know what the hell is going on. He got a letter from the Lab Director, along with the offer of a severance package."

Greg's stomach abruptly plummeted to socks. "Severance..?"

"Yeah. Which isn't really a big deal. Considering what happened, the lab is bound to offer him one. I told him to just turn it down, but he says that the letter is basically telling him he'd better sign it."

"But...they can't do that," Greg said hopefully.

"Well, no, technically-- _legally_ they can't," Warrick closed his locker door. "But there are plenty of ways around that." 

Once Warrick had left, Hodges turned his glare on Greg. "Happy now? I _told_ you we should have warned Nick. But _noooo_ , you thought it was just gossip."

"They have no right to do it," Greg protested weakly.

"And that _always_ stops people," Hodges retorted. "Jesus, where the hell do you work?"

Any reply Greg was about to make died when Warrick appeared again. Greg took one look at his expression and almost made a run for it.

"You _knew_ about this?"

* * *

Warrick didn't take the time to say more than "I want to talk to you later" to a very nervous-looking Greg before leaving the lab. His main concern was getting home and finding out exactly what was going on with this severance package.

It wasn't that he doubted what Nick was telling him--he just didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to believe that the lab, the department, the _city_ they had both worked their asses off for would not only kick a man when he was down, but attempt to steam roll him as well.

Nick had been so agitated on the phone that Warrick wasn't sure what state he would be in, and didn't see him when he walked into the house. "Nick?" he called, and was a bit startled when Nick suddenly stood from where he'd been crouched on the floor. "Nicky..."

Grabbing a stack of papers, Nick thrust them into Warrick's outstretched hand. "Take a look. Tell me what you see." Then he hunkered down near his bookshelves again.

Warrick walked around the coffee table that blocked Nick from his line of sight. Nick was rummaging through some wooden boxes--boxes that Warrick always assumed were just the decorative bottom of the bookshelves, but turned out to be nicely camouflaged storage. "What are you looking for?"

"You know all those policy manuals they give when you first start? I don't know if anyone ever looks at them again after the first week."

"Except maybe Ecklie," Warrick muttered, and began flipping through the papers.

Nick didn't say anything, but the sound he made was not flattering.

Warrick sat on the couch and began reading through the papers. __

_...understand that it may be difficult to return to work...to avoid any further stress... beneficial to all concerned_ _...absolves Las Vegas Crime Lab of all responsibility for injury...will not follow a course of legal action at a later date..._

The first thing he noticed was that the dollar amount was more generous than average for a county employee. There was nothing that could be considered blatant coercion, though. "Why do you need the policy books?"

"Because I'm pretty sure it'll be the first thing Joss asks for."

"Joss?"

"My sister," Nick answered absently, pulling out another box.

"I _know_ she's your sister. Why that one?"

"She's the civil rights lawyer."

"Civil rights?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure if this really falls under a civil rights issue, but she's the one who would know the most about anything like this. She's also least likely to mention it to Mom or Cisco."

Warrick felt his lips twitch in spite of the situation. "Does the lab even know that you have..." he did the quick calculation in his head. "Five lawyers in your immediate family? Well, four and a judge."

"Six and a judge," Nick corrected, not looking up.

"Six?"

"Susannah used to practice family law before she worked for corrections, and Meredith specialized in business law."

Another calculation. "That leaves you and one other sister."

"Adrienne has a Doctor of Juridical Science. More the research side."

Warrick shook his head, marveling again that Nick had the strength of character to step away from such a strong tradition in order to be his own man. It only made the idea of anyone trying to _stop_ him from working in his chosen field all the more infuriating. "Well, then you've got your pick of lawyers if you need one."

Nick finally paused in his hunt and looked at Warrick. "I have no idea if I'll need one, but I don't want to go charging off. And I'm sure as hell not going to do nothing while--"

"No, hey," Warrick held up his hand. "I'm with you on this one."

"What do you think?" Nick nodded toward the papers Warrick was holding.

"I think they're trying to cover all their bases by wording things very carefully." Then Hodges' words came back to him, " _...things like loopholes and people who know how to use them._ "

"What?"

"It's something Hodges said..." Warrick tried to remember. "He and Greg were arguing about something. Greg said something about rights, then Hodges said something about loopholes."

"They knew? So... how long ago was this?"

"A month, at least."

"So they must have been planning this for--" Nick stopped, then groaned in dismay. "The release. Jesus...and I was so happy to sign the damn thing!"

"You think they're going to use--oh, that's just wrong." Warrick made an effort to loosen his jaw--he'd been clenching it off and on since he'd heard.

Nick went back to looking through the boxes with a renewed energy.

"What about filing a grievance?" Warrick suggested.

"Would that work?" Nick gave him a questioning frown. "I mean, isn't that mostly for on-the-job stuff? I don't know if that would apply if you've got a problem with the higher ups. Besides, Ecklie handles them, I think."

Warrick snorted. So much for that idea.

"You said he's working swing hours this week, so I'm gonna try and catch him as soon as he gets in."

"Hell, I wouldn't even wait if I were you. I'd find out where he lives."

Nick gave him a wry smile. "Probably not a good idea if they're concerning themselves with my psych eval."

"Fuck," Warrick said, because no other word really applied. The more he thought about the whole thing the angrier he got.

"I don't know where the hell it is," Nick shoved another box back into place with a sigh.

"You can get another copy of it from Personnel," Warrick reminded him. "Have you talked to Grissom or Catherine yet?"

"No, I've only known since just before I called you." Running his hands through his hair, Nick sighed again. "You don't think I'm reading too much into it, do you?"

"No," Warrick looked over the papers one last time before dropping them on the coffee table. He felt the urge to wipe his hands. "There's nothing anyone could pinpoint, but overall it read like the nice-guy routine before they play hardball."

"Yeah, that's what it seemed like to me, too." Nick rubbed his eyes tiredly, "This _sucks_."

Wanting to take Nick's mind off it, at least for a little while, Warrick got up and walked over, holding out his hand. "Look, you're not gonna be able to do anything until after you throw this offer back in Ecklie's face. Maybe he'll back down once he sees you aren't going to."

"You really believe that?" Nick took his hand and allowed Warrick to pull his to his feet.

"Nope." Another slight tug was all it took to bring Nick into his arms. 

"Me neither," Nick let out another sigh as he wrapped his arms around Warrick's waist and settled comfortably against him.

"Did you have any breakfast?" Warrick asked, knowing Nick didn't bother much about meals when he was alone lately.

"Nah. Wasn't hungry."

"Well, it's almost noon. Do you want to--"

"Order something?" Nick shook his head with a slight smile. "No thanks. I don't know about you, but I've been eating way too much take-out lately. Besides, I'm still not sure I believe that you only know how to make sandwiches. You telling me you can't work a can opener?"

"Why don't you teach me how to cook?" Warrick suggested, dipping his head to nuzzle into Nick's neck. He grinned when he heard a soft huff of laughter.

"Is that supposed to convince me to make you some lunch?"

"Would you, Nicky?" Warrick asked, pressing gentle kisses against Nick's throat.

"Oh, man..." Nick's sighed again, only this time with pleasure and amusement. "You think you can suave your way into anything, don't you?" He finally pulled away and gave Warrick a teasing grin, "Soup and sandwiches. Try to keep up. Take notes if you have to."

* * *

He didn't knock. He didn't say hello. He just slammed the severance package on Conrad Ecklie's desk. 

Warrick had done a fairly good job of distracting him during lunch, but all it had taken was the drive over for Nick to get himself riled up again and now he was spoiling for a fight.

Ecklie jumped slightly at the sudden intrusion, but recovered himself quickly. "Signed?" he asked mildly.

"Hell, no."

"I didn't think so," Ecklie shrugged, and left it at that.

"Then why make the offer?" Nick demanded.

"To give you the chance to accept compensation."

"You can't force me to quit my job."

"You've suffered a major trauma-- _two_ major traumas--in the course of your job. I'm surprised you'd want to come back."

"That's not your decision to make."

"It is if it affects your ability to do your job, or damages the credibility of this lab."

For a moment, Nick was so angry he couldn't get any words out. "You can't possibly claim it's affected my ability to do my job--not until I've _returned_ to my job. I returned to work after my first _trauma_ and I don't think there were any complaints about my performance."

Ecklie gave him a long, contemplative look. "Perhaps you don't remember them."

Nick's mouth went dry and his voice fled, but that was fine, because he had no intention of lowering himself to actually _ask_. 

The silence stretched on for over a minute, then Ecklie said, "Close the door, please. Then sit down."

A bit thrown by the "please," Nick did as requested.

"You're correct, by the way. Your performance was never called into question."

"But that wasn't your point," Nick gritted out.

"The part that memory plays in a CSI's job is immeasurable."

"There's nothing wrong with my memory," Nick insisted. Conrad gave him a mildly condescending look. "Test me. You'll find that my short-term memory is as good as it ever was and my long-term memory isn't much worse than average." It felt good to be able to say that. Nick had been so busy dealing with the trauma of his captivity that he hadn't had much time to enjoy the fact that for the most part, his memory of the last fifteen years was now intact. Nine times out of ten when he reached back for a memory, he found it. Just like anyone else. It made him able to add boldly, "Again, that's something you can't determine until I've returned to work. And frankly, I doubt there will be any problems in that area."

"Do you foresee any problems with your objectivity?" Ecklie inquired, not seeming the slightest bit phased by Nick's words. "Considering you've suffered a mental breakdown."

" _Mental breakdown_?" Nick tried to stay calm. "Look, what I had was brought on by--"

"Because it _will be_ a mental breakdown once any defense attorney worth his salt gets hold of it."

The words were like a blow, and threw Nick's thoughts into disarray. He knew they would try to use Dr. Werne's evaluation to their benefit, but thought it would be a for-your-own-good kind of deal. He hadn't imagined it being used against him like _this_. "Any testimony...my credibility...oh, God."

"The Director is always concerned about the reputation of this lab and doesn't want to risk anything that would damage our solve or conviction rates."

Nick was at a complete loss.

"The main concerns of Director Lambert are the solve rates, the budget, the lab's reputation."

 _And advancing his career_. "I can take legal action."

"No doubt that would cause some concern," there was a hint of derision in Ecklie's voice. "But such cases rarely make the news, and I imagine that's one of the few things that would really worry the Director."

"Look, I'm not interested in dragging the press into this, okay?"

"Well, good. Because if the press took this story and ran with it, it could be disastrous for Director Lambert."

Nick frowned. Ecklie almost sounded...exasperated.

"As for that day-to-day running of the lab--that's my concern, not Director Lambert's. We are short-staffed right now, and it turns out that only one of the CSI-III's we've brought in is suitable. I'm being pressured to hire a CSI-I to fill the other slot, which would save on a salary. Although, overall, the training will probably cost more."

Nick could only stare in disbelief. Ecklie actually had the _nerve_ to sit there and complain about _his_ problems?

"And, I'll admit that in the past I may not have given lab morale the consideration it deserved, but it's been fluctuating badly over the last two years. It took a major blow when the county refused to pay your ransom, and I imagine that if word got around you were being forced out of your job after all you'd been through, it would plummet."

Okay, this was just plain weird. It almost sounded as though...

"But, of course, whatever I think, Director Lambert has the final word."

_Dingdingdingding._

"Is there anything else?" Ecklie asked, picking up the severance package. "If not, you can take this and go."

"I don't need that," Nick said, standing.

"I don't need it cluttering up my desk," Ecklie continued to hold it up until Nick took it. "But I better not hear about it falling into the hands of some reporter."

There was no longer any doubt in Nick's mind. "That will be up to my lawyer, if I decide to consult one."

"Well, make sure to pass along my warning."

"Absolutely." 

* * *

Nick sat at the table and fiddled with the skeleton of Michaela's buggy while he waited for Warrick to finish getting ready for work. He had called Grissom and Catherine as soon as he got back from his meeting with Ecklie, and was supposed to meet them an hour before shift started. Although he'd planned to take his own truck, Warrick convinced him it wasn't necessary, suggesting they drive in together. Warrick pointed out that it wouldn't be much trouble for him to catch a ride back home with someone, which was true, but Nick suspected it would be Warrick driving him home as well. 

Because he knew how difficult it had been for Warrick to stay behind and wait when he went in to see Ecklie, Nick agreed. Considering that Warrick was just as angry as Nick, if not angrier, there was no telling what would have happened. Usually when one of them flew off the handle, the other was able to keep at least _somewhat_ calm. That wasn't the case this time, and things could have gone very wrong.

When he got home from his meeting with Ecklie, Nick had been far too wound up to sleep, but he wanted Warrick to get at least _some_ rest before his shift began, so after telling Warrick about everything and making some calls, Nick suggested they crash for a little while before work. Warrick did manage to fall into a light doze eventually, while Nick, resting his head on Warrick's chest, turned the situation over and over.

Warrick was dubious about Ecklie's intentions, but he was all for Nick going to the press. Nick was a bit surprised by that, since normally Warrick didn't think much more of reporters than he did of lawyers. 

Nick told him that he wouldn't be talking to the press until he hired a lawyer, and he wouldn't hire a lawyer until he spoke to Joss and he wouldn't be speaking to Joss until after he talked to Grissom and Catherine. What Nick _didn't_ say, what he reflected on while nestled next to Warrick, was that he hoped that simply the _threat_ of press and a lawsuit would be enough to make Director Lambert back down.

Then, of course, there was the whole question of whether he wanted to go back under such a cloud. He didn't doubt that his co-workers would be supportive, but it could be very difficult doing his job knowing that the Director was hoping to get rid of him at the first opportunity. Of course, the Director was rarely around so it might not be too much of a problem.

His thoughts were interrupted when Warrick emerged from his bedroom. "Ready to go?"

They stuck to their usual teasing banter on the drive to the lab, for which Nick was grateful. The whole severance thing was going to be occupying enough of his time as it was.

The meeting with Grissom and Catherine was relatively brief, taken up mostly by Nick's recounting of his conversation with Ecklie and outlining of his plans--such as they were. In truth, there wasn't a great deal his immediate supervisors could do, except vouch for his ability. 

Catherine had already tried, though. She hadn't managed to see Director Lambert, but did meet with Ecklie. And while she insisted it was a purely professional conversation, Nick suspected Ecklie was missing a layer or two of skin. Catherine was perfectly capable of tearing someone to bits without raising her voice--she could even do it while speaking in a very pleasant tone. In fact, she was usually deadliest when she brought out that very pleasant tone.

She did confirm Nick's initial impression--that Ecklie didn't want him out. But, she added, on the other hand, Ecklie wasn't about to risk his career by openly defying the Director or helping Nick. 

When it sounded like Catherine was almost apologizing for not getting more, Nick was quick to assure her he didn't _want_ her to do more. That he didn't want either of them risking their jobs over this. His words were mostly for Catherine, since she was more likely than Grissom to try the maneuvering necessary in bureaucratic waters. It required an adaptability that was one of Catherine's strengths.

"I'm not about to hire and train someone new for a graveyard position when I already have a perfectly good CSI in the spot."

And tenacity was one of Grissom's strengths. Director Lambert would get more than he bargained for if Grissom decided to seriously dig his heels in on this.

Not that Nick expected either of them to fight this battle for him--it was his job and his fight--but it was a good feeling knowing they were both so firmly in his corner.

He promised to keep them updated--"at least once a day," Catherine insisted. For a split-second Nick was tempted to tell her she sounded word-for-word like his Mom and said good-bye before he got himself into some serious trouble. 

There were still twenty-minutes before shift began, and the graveyard staff was trickling in, so when Nick went in search of Warrick, he didn't make much progress. Everyone wanted to talk to him, but to Nick's relief, no on seemed to have heard about the severance offer--surprising considering the way gossip flew around this lab. 

He was just leaving the ballistics lab after a quick "hey" to Bobby when Warrick caught up with him. "You all done?"

"Yep."

"Not quite," Warrick corrected, jerking his head toward the trace lab.

Through the glass walls, Nick could see Hodges prepping for his shift. He wasn't angry at Hodges or Greg--exactly. It's not like the situation was their fault. The fact that they hadn't told him just left a sour taste in his mouth and invariably left him feeling similar to the way he had when he discovered Grissom and Archie had kept the recording from him. 

As the walked into the trace lab, Hodges looked up, then leaned back against a table, crossing his arms. "I wondered when you'd stroll in here."

Nick had to hand it to the guy, Hodges looked completely nonplused, even bored, despite the fact that he had two very ticked off CSIs in front of him. Especially considering one of those CSIs was Warrick. "I want to know why--I mean, did you find out...where did--were you told about--"

Hodges raised his eyebrows as if Nick was speaking Mandarin--badly.

Taking a deep breath, Nick finally settled on a single question instead of trying to ask five at once. "How long have you known about it?"

"Well, that depends," Hodges shrugged. "I first overheard Conrad discussing it with Lambert when I attended that budget meeting with him. Lambert seemed concerned about the...repercussions of you coming back to the job."

"You knew it was about me?" Nick asked, irritation flashing through him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"At the time you were still in Texas, and we didn't even know if you _were_ coming back," Hodges replied. Warrick's glare intensified at his words, but Hodges acknowledged it with only a slight roll of his eyes. "And anyway, nothing was definite. It sounded to me like Conrad was talking him out of it. About a month later, I was outside Conrad's office and heard Lambert inside. I couldn't hear much, but I did make out that Lambert wanted to find a way to keep you from coming back."

"And you didn't say anything to them?" Warrick demanded.

"Well, I _did_ consider popping my head in and saying 'hey, would you mind firing me for eavesdropping?' but I didn't want to be rude."

"Since when?" Warrick muttered.

"Of course you couldn't barge in on them," Nick agreed, although he knew that was _exactly_ what Warrick would have done. "But why you didn't you tell me at that point?"

"I asked him not to."

Nick and Warrick turned to find Greg standing behind them. 

"I honestly didn't think it was something they would really _do_. I told Hodges the last thing you needed was to be worrying about anything like that."

"Actually," Hodges corrected. "You told me to keep my damn mouth shut and not hassle Nick with stupid gossip."

Greg shot him an annoyed glance then turned back to Nick. "Seriously, I didn't think they could do something like this. I'm sorry."

Nick decided he had more important things to worry about that holding a grudge, especially considering Greg thought he was doing what was best. "I'm not sure knowing would have helped much anyway."

"I probably should have known better than to listen to Sanders," Hodges added. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Nick stifled a smile as Greg fired another glare in Hodges' direction, and accepted that that was as close to an apology as Hodges was likely to get.

"We'd better get going," Warrick nudged him.

"So are we cool?" Greg still looked worried.

"Yeah, G," Nick assured him. "We're fine." He looked at Hodges who seemed to have lost interest in the conversation and was sorting through his workload. "Same goes for you, Hodges."

"Then I suppose I can find the will to go on," Hodges replied without looking up.

Nick shook his head, but found that in the turmoil of the last couple of years, Hodges' consistency was actually a comfort.

On the ride home, Nick relayed most of his conversation with Grissom and Catherine without waiting for Warrick to ask, finally adding out loud his concern that they might involve themselves too much.

"Hell, Nicky, of course they're going to go to the mat for you," was Warrick's response. "We all would."

"I know you would. You already have, more than once."

Warrick shot him a look of disbelief, "Do you mean by looking for you? Man, you can't count that, it doesn't even--it's not even--you can't compare that. Come on."

"Still, what good does it do if everyone gets themselves in trouble on my account?"

"You know we all would."

"I know. So I don't need proof." Nick was grateful they had arrived at the house, because he was sure this was a point Warrick would argue forever. Before getting out, he leaned over to give Warrick what was supposed to be a quick kiss, only to have Warrick wrap a gentle hand around the back of his neck to prolong it. "You're gonna be late," Nick murmured against his lips.

"I'm already late," Warrick responded with a soft nibble.

"You're gonna be _really_ late." They both let out regretful sighs as they parted. "Have a good night," Nick said, getting out of the truck.

He was in the house with his shoes and coat off before he remembered that he forgot to stop by personnel to pick up a copy of the policy manual. Grabbing a drink and his laptop, he settled onto the sofa, wondering where exactly to start, when he suddenly remembered the Crime Lab's website. There was probably a copy of the policies somewhere on it.

After spending well over an hour going aimlessly through any information that looked promising, Nick finally set his laptop aside. Maybe it would be better to wait until tomorrow after his appointment with Dr. Werne before he really got started.

He was stalling. He knew he was stalling. He _hated_ that he was stalling, but he couldn't seem to help it.

This wasn't about whether or not he wanted his job back. There was absolutely no question about that. Even more than _wanting_ his job back, he _needed_ his job back--he felt that on a gut level. 

What was really up for question was what he was willing to _do_ to get his job back. He'd already been handed more than one option--hell, they'd practically been gift-wrapped, but he was leery about implementing either of them.

He wasn't sure what his friends would say when they found out he had no intention of involving the press. He could well imagine the words Warrick would be using, though, especially when he told him that not only was he not going to involve the press, if he could find any way around it, he wanted to avoid involving lawyers as well.

Nick knew Warrick might not even accept his reasoning once he explained it, but he owed Warrick the explanation nonetheless. As for everyone else, he would just tell them that he didn't want to make the lab look bad. That he wasn't about to risk doing something that could possibly smear his co-workers in the process.

That was truth.

Some of it, anyway.

* * *

Less than a week ago, Warrick would have been very pleased to get home to find Nick engrossed in his model buggy, but now he was more puzzled than anything. Apparently, Nick wasn't as engrossed as he usually was, anyway, because he rose when Warrick came in. "Hey."

"I figured I'd find you hunched over your laptop looking for ways to nail Lambert to the wall."

"Oh. Yeah, I..." Nick let out an odd laugh. "Nah."

Warrick knew that laugh. It meant something was up--something that Nick was not looking forward to talking about. "Nick?" He tugged on Nick's arm, drawing him into an embrace.

Nick responded immediately, wrapping his arms around Warrick and leaning in for a kiss. Warrick was more than happy to oblige and they exchanged several soft but deep kisses before Nick sighed and rested his head in the crook of Warrick's neck.

"What's going on, Nicky? Bad news already? Did you call Joss?"

"In the middle of the night?" Nick didn't raise his head.

"Right." Sometimes it was hard to remember they ran on a different clock than most people.

"I'm not sure if I'll be phoning her about this after all."

"Why?" A reason occurred to him, "Even if she does tell your folks, will it make that much difference?"

"No, nothing like that." Nick chuckled, "Although there's always the chance that my dad would offer to take the case--on the lab's behalf." 

Warrick snorted. _Ain't that the truth._

"I'm not going to take legal action if I can help it."

"You think going to the press is gonna be enough to make Lambert back down?"

"I'm not sure," Nick lifted his head and took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm not going to the press either."

"What?" Warrick pulled back to stare. "Nick--"

"Before you go ballistic," Nick held up a hand. "Just hear me out."

He could do that. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to like anything he heard, but he could listen. "Okay," he settled himself on the couch and waited for Nick to join him.

"Okay," Nick sat facing him. "Well, I've been thinking about everything all day and most of the night and I just--Warrick, even if Lambert or the board or whoever are a bunch of jerk-offs, it's gonna be the lab that takes the heat from the press or a lawsuit."

" _That's_ what you're worried about? Hell, Nicky--"

"Warrick, _you_ work at that lab."

"You think I'm gonna keep working there if they don't--"

"You aren't going to quit over this," Nick frowned at him.

"The hell I'm not."

"Rick--" Nick sighed. "Okay, you quit. How about Catherine? And Greg? Grissom? Sara? Are they all supposed to quit, too? They would still have to work there."

"The lab has survived worse that this."

"I know," Nick admitted, "But still...anyway, that's not the only reason."

"What else?"

"Us."

"Us?" A sudden spike of fear ran through him.

"I don't care when people find out about us," Nick assured him. "I don't care who knows. I don't know if you have any problems with who knows or--"

"I don't," Warrick said as firmly as he could. He didn't want Nick to have any doubts in that area.

"But I don't want this to be the way everyone finds out, either. If there's a lawsuit..." Nick's brow creased, adding to his troubled expression. "I don't know if they'll try to use our relationship or if they'll even find out about us, but I don't want to even take the chance. I don't want anyone to even be able to _touch_ it."

Who the hell could argue with that? Warrick couldn't, so instead he pulled Nick close, deciding to show him how much he appreciated the protectiveness Nick felt toward what they had--and that he shared the sentiment. 

When they finally came up for air, Warrick was half-lying against the armrest, with Nick leaning against him. There was a comfortable silence as Warrick stroked the dark hair, then Nick sighed again. "As for the press--those reasons are a bit more selfish."

"Selfish?"

"Remember how I wouldn't give any interviews after--either time. I just let the lab give out statements."

"Yeah, but that was because the Sheriff and Director basically wanted you to make them look good. This time--"

"It's to make the lab look bad," Nick finished. "But that's still not the reason. Rick, you know how the press works. Do you really think they'd be interested in my story because I might lose my job? And once they got my story, do you really think it's the severance package that will get the bold type?"

_Oh, hell._

"I don't want to be a freak show. A double freak show. I don't know how long they could drag it out--I guess it depends what else is out there making the news." A shudder ran through him and he nestled closer to Warrick. "But any length of time is too long."

 _Check and mate._ "So what are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure--yet," Nick admitted. "But there had to be another way. I'm pretty sure if I can find a way to work around the things they're worried about--"

"Nick." Warrick didn't like where this was headed. He sat up, jostling Nick in the process. "They have no right to do this."

"I know that. But some of their reasoning is valid."

" _Nothing_ about this is valid."

"Rick," Nick sounded exasperated. "You think I want some defense attorney taking me apart on the stand? You think I want to risk my testimony or my evidence getting kicked because of trauma induced amnesia?"

For the third time, any argument Warrick had vanished in a puff of smoke. It was starting to piss him off. "So...what, then? You're gonna just let them away with this?"

"No." Nick's chin was beginning to jut slightly. "Warrick, I'm getting my job back, and you can take that to the bank. I'm not sure exactly _how_ , but I've got a couple of ideas I'm gonna run by Ecklie."

"You really think Ecklie will help you?" Warrick didn't want to discourage Nick, but mistrust was still his first instinct around the Assistant Director.

"If he thinks it's best for the lab, I think he will. I wouldn't ask otherwise."

Warrick nodded, even though he was still dubious about it.

Nick obviously sensed his doubts. "Warrick, I'm getting my job back, okay? I _have_ to. If I don't it's like they win and I'm not going to let that happen."

"They...you mean Lambert?"

"I mean Sampson and those two--" Nick clenched his jaw, cutting off anything else he was going to say. "There's a lot of things they took from me, but I'll be goddamned if they get this." His voice thickened and shook a little toward the end.

Warrick had to swallow a lump in his throat before he could speak. "Okay," he smiled, trailing his fingers along Nick's cheek. "I believe you."

Nick returned the smile and his voice was even when he spoke again. "I'm not set to go back to work for at least another month, so I've got time to take care of all this." He leaned against Warrick, and Warrick happily slumped back down to the position he'd been in before, drawing Nick closer for a kiss. Nick shifted until he was lying more fully on top of the larger man and their kiss quickly grew more heated.

Warrick smoothed his hands down Nick's sides until he came to the hem of his shirt, and he slowly slid one hand underneath. Nick moaned, then trailed his lips along Warrick jaw and began sucking industriously at the skin of his neck. Arching his head back to give Nick better access, Warrick explored every inch of warm skin he could reach. 

As Nick worked his way back to Warrick's mouth, he also began to writhe insistently against him. "I want to try again," Nick said breathlessly when they finally broke apart. "I mean, I want you to..."

"Are you sure?" Warrick couldn't help asked. It had only been hand jobs or blow jobs since Warrick's less-than-successful suggestion. "Because you don't have to."

With a sigh, Nick buried his face briefly in the crook of Warrick's neck, then raised it again to look intently at him. "You think I let you fuck me because I _have_ to?"

Warrick didn't know how to respond to that, although his body definitely had some ideas. "Gotcha."

"So?"

"I'd have to be crazy to say no," Warrick smiled.

"In your room, yeah?"

"Anywhere you want, baby." Although he didn't much care _where_ it happened, Warrick did wonder. They had been sleeping in Nick's larger bed for a couple of months now. Of course, things had gone bad twice in Nick's bed, even though they'd enjoyed themselves in different ways since. Warrick couldn't recall how many times they'd been in his bed--there had just been the one time, actually.

Their first time.

"Rick?"

"No rush," Warrick assured him with another deep kiss. "And you know that anytime you want to stop--"

"I know," Nick smiled, kissing Warrick lightly before getting to his feet and taking Warrick's hand. "I know."

Nick seemed fine, even eager, until they actually got into the bedroom. The first time his lover's breath hitched, Warrick did his best to overlook it in case it was just a one-time thing, but when it happened a second, then a third time, he stopped what they were doing and just held Nick close. "Nick, baby, you gotta stop trying so hard to make it happen. Things have been good these past few weeks, haven't they?"

"Yes," almost reluctantly.

Nick had been fine other times when they had no specific goal, so Warrick tried to set that mood again. He took his time removing Nick's clothes, then tried to keep his composure while Nick returned the favor, although he could keep from placing teasing kisses on whatever part of Nick's body he could reach.

"I think..." Nick's voice was a bit muffled, because he was speaking in between kisses. "I'm pretty sure...I'll be okay as long as I can see you."

"That's fine by me," Warrick assured him, wrapping both arms around Nick and holding him even closer. Nick wriggled against him as they exchanged more hungry kisses, and Warrick had to step back or risk everything finishing much sooner than he planned. He got what they needed from the night stand, using the time to get himself back under control before he knelt on the bed and held out his hand. "C'mere, babe."

Nick raised his eyebrows questioningly, but if he felt any trepidation, he was hiding better than he ever had before. Without hesitation, he took the offered hand and knelt facing Warrick. 

Warrick took a moment to appreciate the sight before him, and when he didn't make a move immediately, Nick did, shifting closer to capture Warrick's lips while one hand drifted down to gently grip Warrick's weeping erection. With a soft growl, Warrick wrapped his arm around Nick's waist and pulled the smaller man flush against him. With his other hand, he sought out the tube on the bed. Fortunately it was a flip cap, and he only needed one hand to sufficiently coat his fingers.

Still exploring the silky interior of Nick's mouth, Warrick managed to slide his slick fingers between the firm buttocks and begin stroking the tight opening. Nick let out a startled gasp and bucked against him, then moaned and pressed back against the questing fingers.

Nick pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses everywhere he could reach, marking Warrick's neck shoulders while Warrick prepared him. Warrick had just worked a third finger in when Nick whispered, "Okay," and moved away. 

Warrick looked behind him for the condom, but then heard Nick opening the package. Then there was the excruciating pleasure of Nick taking his damn sweet time of rolling it on, teasing each inch of cock before it was sheathed in latex. Finally, _finally_ , it was on, and Warrick spread his legs wider so he was almost sitting as well as kneeling. Grasping a muscular thigh in each hand, Warrick pulled Nick until the smaller man was straddling his hips, also on his knees.

In this position, Warrick had to look up to meet Nick's eyes, which were glazed with desire. "Whenever you're ready, baby," he husked, his hands on the slim hips to offer balance and any necessary leverage. "It's all you."

Nick smiled, and slowly lowered himself until he was impaled on Warrick's length. They groaned in unison before their lips met. As they took turns ravaging each other's mouth, Nick began to move, riding Warrick in a delicious, languid rhythm that Warrick felt certain was going to drive him out of his mind.

Warrick waited for Nick to increase their speed, start riding harder, but Nick was moving as though he had all the time in the world. "Nicky...come _on_ , Nicky! For God's sake!"

Nick merely grinned and gave him another kiss before glancing over his shoulder, then stretching one arm to touch the mattress behind him. "Rick?"

Warrick didn't need to be asked twice. Straightening his bent legs, he bore them down until Nick was on his back, his legs still wrapped around Warrick's hips, his arms still around Warrick's neck. Nick let out a slight _whuff_ when he landed on the mattress, but immediately tightened his legs, encouraging Warrick to drive in even deeper.

Nick had kept his eyes locked with Warrick's anytime their lips weren't locked in a kiss, and Warrick tried to do the same. Now though, as Warrick began to pick up speed, Nick's eyes slid shut and he threw his head back. "It's good...it's good..." he chanted and at first Warrick thought he might be trying to convince himself, but then came the choked--"Oh, _god_ , Rick! It's so good!"

After that, it was only a matter of time. Warrick tried, and just barely managed to hold back until he felt the warmth of Nick's release between their bodies. Then with a hoarse shout, he pumped himself into the welcoming body beneath him.

Warrick had no idea how long it was before he finally roused himself enough to slide free of Nick. At first he thought the soft sound Nick made was of pain, but then he realized it was one of protest. "Don't go," Nick murmured.

"Just cleaning up a bit, babe," Warrick whispered, then grabbed some covers to throw over them. "I'm not going anywhere. You know that."

"I know that," Nick agreed drowsily, snuggling into his usual position. "Neither am I."

"Neither are you," Warrick repeated, wrapping his arms around his lover.

* * *

He couldn't move.

He'd tried to stretch, only to find his arms and legs were immobile.

Before fear truly had a chance to set in, it subsided again, chased away by full wakefulness. Of course he couldn't move, he was wrapped snugly in Warrick's arms and one of Warrick's legs was thrown across both of his. Nick sighed and nuzzled Warrick's shoulder, relaxing as his heart rate gradually returned to normal.

It was something that still happened, and would no doubt continue to happen, but each time it got a little easier to deal with.

Still warm and sated, Nick was tempted to just go back to sleep. That was until he checked the time and realized he only had 45 minutes before his appointment with Dr. Werne.

Carefully, Nick lifted one of Warrick's arms and tried to shift out from underneath, not wanting to wake him. Warrick mumbled something in his sleep and rolled more fully on top of him.

So much for that idea.

"Rick," Nick whispered, in case Warrick was still asleep. When there was no response, he tried once again to wriggle out from under the larger man.

Warrick began moving as well, and Nick couldn't help grinning when it became apparent that at least part of Warrick was _very_ awake. Nick felt his body responding and knew he'd better do something before he completely forgot about his appointment.

"Warrick," he said, and moved more insistently.

So did Warrick. With a drowsy growl, he buried his face in the crook of Nick's neck.

"Easy, tiger," Nick laughed as Warrick's beard tickled his chin. "C'mon, I've gotta get up. I need to take a shower."

"Gimme a minute, an' I'll help."

"Right," Nick snorted. "Then I'll _really_ be late." He continued to shove until he'd rolled Warrick onto his back. Leaning over to give him a quick kiss, Nick deftly avoided his hands, then got out of bed and headed for the shower.

After he was finished, Nick looked in and saw that Warrick had gone back to sleep. He walked in to give the slumbering man another kiss before going to his own room to get ready.

Dr. Werne was not at all pleased to hear what the report she'd submitted had been used for, especially considering that all the questions had been worded to imply Nick would be returning to work. She offered to testify to the same, but Nick told her what he hoped to suggest to Ecklie instead. He'd half-expected her to go into the usual "your decision" spiel--she was as fond of it as Dr. Volker had been--but instead she agreed that it was the best possible plan in his situation.

Back at home, Nick called Ecklie to set up a meeting and Ecklie reluctantly agreed to see him the next day. Then, remembering Catherine's request to be kept in the loop, he called her and then Grissom to tell them he planned to meet with Ecklie in order to come to some sort of agreement about his job. He didn't go into much more detail than that with either of them--details and scenarios were all run by Warrick before and during dinner.

It didn't go very well. Nick knew Warrick was trying to be helpful, but it was equally obvious he was still furious that Nick had to consider any options other than returning to his old job. Finally, Nick let it drop, deciding Warrick didn't need to be stressed out before he went to work.

Fortunately, there was a Cowboys game on TV, and that was enough to keep them distracted--when they weren't busy trying to distract one another from the game. Nick barely thought about the meeting again until after Warrick left for work.

That was when he got a call from Catherine.

"I mentioned to Ecklie that I was going to ask you if Grissom and I could be there for the meeting."

 _Oh._ Nick hadn't expected to hear that, but he supposed it made sense. That didn't explain why Catherine had that edge to her voice, though. "Sure, if you guys want to be there, that's probably a good idea."

"Ecklie claims that only one of your supervisors needs to be there and since Grissom has seniority, he'll be going in."

"Well, okay..." _That's_ what had her ticked off? Nick couldn't help but notice that she was calling Ecklie, _Ecklie_. Normally, Catherine was one of the few people who called him Conrad even when he wasn't around. Maybe--Catherine could get territorial about things--maybe she felt slighted? "I'm not sure what to--"

"Did you tell Ecklie what you wanted to talk about?"

"About my job," Nick replied.

"I know that, but you didn't go into specifics with us. Did you with Ecklie? Does he have enough that he could be preparing to have something ready to counter with?"

 ** _Oh._** Suddenly, Catherine's concern made a lot more sense. It was well known, by Ecklie better than anyone, that if you were going to try a political or bureaucratic cat-and-mouse game, you wanted to play it against Grissom, not Catherine. "I basically told him the same thing I told you--that I wasn't accepting the severance package and wanted to discuss my job with him."

"Okay," Catherine conceded. "Maybe Ecklie just didn't want it to feel like three against one."

Nick didn't say it, but he suspected that Ecklie probably didn't want to discuss the subject of his job with Catherine again after she tore a strip off him last time. "Tell Gris he doesn't have to come to the meeting if he doesn't want to. I should be okay." He didn't point out that although he wasn't crazy about politicking or bureaucratic doublespeak, he'd grown up around it and could deal with it when he had to.

"Don't worry, Nicky, he'll be there."

Nick wondered if Grissom knew that yet.

* * *

Ecklie was keeping them waiting on purpose.

Nick felt it in his gut as he paced outside the Assistant Director's closed door. It was already fifteen minutes past the time they'd agreed on, and Nick was growing more agitated by the minute. While he honestly believed his plan was the best possible one for both him _and_ the lab, that was no guarantee that Ecklie would think so as well. In truth, Ecklie not only had to agree with it, but also to believe it was beneficial enough to the lab to risk running it past Lambert.

Shit, maybe it would have to be a lawsuit or the press, after all.

Maybe he should have called Joss, as Warrick suggested, just to have a little extra ammo in his back pocket.

Maybe he should call Warrick back and tell him to cancel their reservation. It was his night off, so Warrick had made dinner reservations at Prime in the Bellagio so they could celebrate if Nick was successful. The unwavering support meant a lot to him, but Nick doubted he would feel much like eating out if things didn't go well.

Nick looked over at his mentor, who was still standing as calmly as he had been since arriving, looking as though he'd been waiting fifteen seconds instead of fifteen minutes. Nick tried to do the same, but almost immediately began pacing again.

Finally, Ecklie's door opened. "Sorry to keep you waiting. I was on the phone with Director Lambert."

Nick couldn't help wondering what Ecklie might be implying--if he was implying anything, but quickly shook it off. He and Grissom sat down, as did Ecklie once he'd closed the door behind them. 

"I don't suppose this is something as simple as wanting your severance package sweetened before accepting it," Ecklie said.

"You know it isn't," Nick replied. He took a deep, steadying breath. "From what I've seen, the main concern with my return to work is possible damage to the lab's reputation, but in the process of getting rid of me and hiring a CSI-I, the lab will also save money over the next several years, despite my severance package, is that correct?"

"Money isn't the main factor," Ecklie hedged. "But the budget is always strained."

"And about the $16,000 difference between a CSI-I and a CSI-III is a nice chunk of money to be saving each year," Nick pointed out.

For a moment it looked like Grissom was going to add something, but then he leaned back in his chair again, so Nick continued. "Whether I accept the severance package or whether we fight this thing out, you're going to be hiring a CSI-I at some point, aren't you?"

"Yes," Ecklie admitted, a bit reluctantly.

"And if _I_ applied for that CSI-I position?"

Both men stared at him blankly. "What?" Ecklie finally said.

"If I applied for that CSI-I position?"

"You're a CSI-III," Ecklie informed him.

"I won't be if I'm unsuccessful at getting my job back. So the question now is--if someone with my qualifications applied for the CSI-I position, would you hire them?"

"Of course," Ecklie said.

"No," Grissom said at the same moment, cancelling him out.

Nick struggled to keep his expression neutral, even though that single word almost felt like a punch in the gut.

"Nick, you've worked hard to become a CSI-III," Grissom said. "You've earned it."

Embarrassed, Nick looked at Ecklie instead of his mentor. The Assistant Director was studying him thoughtfully. Taking that as a sign of encouragement, Nick went on, "As a CSI-I, it would be at least a year before I would testify in court again, so the Director wouldn't have to worry about defense attorneys taking a crack at me until I'd proven myself. And not only would you save that sixteen grand, but the training costs would be practically nonexistent."

"Those are both things Director Lambert would love to hear . . . " Ecklie mused.

"No," Grissom said again, more firmly. "Nick has endured more than any of us can imagine in the course of doing his job and has overcome it. And in return for that--he's _demoted_?"

"Gris," Nick said, before the entomologist really started in on Ecklie. "I don't want to chance anything happening on the stand or having my evidence questioned any more than Lambert does. And as much as I think I'll be fine once I get back on the job..." He had to swallow again before admitting the next part, "There's always the chance that something might...go wrong. I don't want to risk letting anyone down."

"You never have, Nick."

The quiet conviction in Grissom's voice made Nick's throat close up and when he spoke again, his voice was shaky despite his best efforts. "I'd rather be a CSI-I in Las Vegas than a CSI-III anywhere else. It's not about a career or advancement right now. It's about getting back on the horse."

"I remember reading about something that could almost be considered a precedent," Ecklie said slowly. "In the early '90s, I think. A woman had been off on maternity leave and just before she was due to come back, she was in a car accident. All total she was away from work for eighteen months. She also had to begin again as a CSI-I, but was able to keep her seniority." He was silent for a moment as he studied a point on the ceiling, "Since Nick hasn't been away nearly as long, I believe that if he passed a proficiency, he could return as a CSI-II--but with a provision that he not testify in court for a specified amount of time--and still retain his seniority."

"Would Lambert go for that?" Nick asked, hardly daring to hope.

"It's more advantageous than a possible lawsuit, or the trouble of training someone new. I think I can convince him."

Nick glanced at Grissom before adding, "It would be a while yet before I'm back."

"We'll muddle through," Ecklie said dryly. "And I will want a clean bill of health from both your doctors."

"Of course," Nick agreed, looking at Grissom again.

The entomologist finally seemed to realize they were waiting for his opinion. "If it's acceptable to you, Nicky, and means you'll be back on the team, then I'm all for it."

Nick returned his gaze to Ecklie, who nodded. "I'll talk to Lambert and start the paper work as soon as possible."

"Thank you," was all Nick managed before his voice failed him completely. He blinked several times, then stood. 

Ecklie rose as well and held out his hand, "I'll call you with the details."

Nick could only nod as they shook hands firmly, then allowed Grissom to usher him out.

In the hallway, Grissom grasped his shoulder. "I'll call Catherine and give her the good news." 

Probably a good idea, Nick decided, since he was only minutes away from tearing up and bawling like a baby. 

"It will be good to have you back, Nicky."

 _Oh, jeez._ Nick cleared his throat, but it didn't help much. His voice still shook a little as he said, "I'm gonna...um...I'm gonna get going. I'm going home to--to, uh..."

"To Warrick," Grissom finished for him.

"Yeah," Nick smiled even though his voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Okay. I'll talk to you again soon."

Nick nodded again, then hurried down the hall and out the door before he lost it completely.

Once in his Ranger, he leaned back and pressed his hands to his eyes. Strange that things going even better than expected would cause such a strong reaction. He stayed the way he was, breathing deeply in an effort to calm himself before he called Warrick.

He might going back to beginning, but he was starting with skills, experience and connections.

And Warrick.

That put him ahead of the game.

And in Las Vegas, that's exactly where you wanted to be.

  


END.

  


I know how Fortune is ever most friendly and alluring to those whom she strives to deceive, until she overwhelms them with grief beyond bearing, by deserting them when least expected … Are you trying to stay the force of her turning wheel? Ah! dull-witted mortal, if Fortune begin to stay still, she is no longer Fortune." ~ Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy


End file.
